The Queen, the Arrow and the Chosen One
by litmajoronleave
Summary: It was Edward's duty to protect Isabella, but from the first moment he laid eyes on her, his life was never the same again. She was the queen. And he has sworn to be faithful to another. AH-OOC/MultiPOV
1. Part 1: The beginning

**Stephenie Meyer **owns the fictional characters Edward Anthony Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan.

**a/n:** The M-rating is for language and violence.

**Part 1/The beginning**

Isabella was the eldest child of the king.

When the princess was 15, her father was brutally murdered.

The king's loyal subjects, fearing an insurrection to put the king's cousin, the Duke of Argyll to the throne, quickly crowned the 13-year old Prince George, Isabella's brother, as the new king.

But George was king only for 52 days. An assassin's arrow dead center to the heart killed him instantly.

A war broke out among three forces wrestling for control of the kingdom. One side was Argyll and the other side was the Duke of Montgomerie, another cousin to the old king.

Argyll and Montgomerie were allies but when the king fell, they separated ways.

Each had ambitions to grab the throne from the young Princess Isabella.

The king's loyal vassals led by the Duke of Kent swore to protect the princess.

When George fell, Kent quickly left the castle and in a secret place in the forest, crowned the princess as the new queen.

Isabella was only 16 years old.

* * *

Kent's heir, Lord Edward, was in Lumberland securing the boundaries between two rivaling clans, while his father the duke and two uncles went to fight for the protection of the new queen.

Three months after the new queen's ascension to the throne, the duke summoned his eldest son.

Edward's new duty was to escort the queen's safe passage to London to reclaim her father's seat of power, now hers.

He left his young wife, the Lady Tanya, and his newborn son with his mother safe in Cullen Hall.

His two younger brothers joined Edward as they journeyed five days straight to the war country.

* * *

Edward had never met the new queen.

Not so for Isabella.

She was 10 years old when she first glimpsed Edward, who was six winters older than her. The handsome young lord was heir to England's most powerful dukedom.

She fell in love, even at a young age. It was an obsession that grew with the years.

Whenever Edward was in London, she would peek at doorways and secret windows to watch him. She would don a disguise and escape her maids-in-waiting to observe him at sword practice.

Once when she was perched on her usual hiding place, her adoring regard on the unsuspecting Edward, a cloth he used to wipe his brow fell to the ground. When the area was deserted, she picked up the red and blue cloth bearing the duchy of Kent's colors and coat of arms, with the letters KnT embroidered on it.

She valued this keepsake, silly as she might feel about it sometimes, close to her heart for many years.

It was unfortunate that she was never introduced to him but Edward was acquainted with her other siblings, especially George.

She had loved him all her life. Her world shook when he was near, his very name has the effect of making her breathless. The princess was convinced, even at a tender age, that it was his devastating green eyes that sealed her fate. They were the sort of green eyes that would haunt a girl's dreams.

On the day she turned two and 10, she swore to herself that she would ask, beseech, entreat and _beg_ her father, the king, to marry her to Kent's heir. To belong to Edward was her first and last prayer.

Isabella was heartbroken and inconsolable when Edward Cullen, the future Duke of Kent, married Tanya Mullineaux two years later.

* * *

[Edward]

His father greeted him with instructions as soon as he was inside the generals' tent, in the middle of the advancing camp.

They discussed strategies and routes that were safest for the new queen's travel back to London. There were intelligence reports that Argyll's troops were coming from the south while Montgomerie's were likely waiting in the farther northside to ambush the queen's party.

His father's small army would ride straight to the castle to secure the kingdom for the queen's return.

By nighttime, he was summoned to the queen's tent for the final briefing of the routes and plans to implement her safetynet.

Edward was to be her close-in guard.

He was curious of this young queen his whole family was protecting and he himself has committed to give up his life for.

He never questioned his father's decisions and alliances. It was their way.

His father was loyal to the old king and now, to the new queen, as was Edward and not only because he was following a command.

He believed in the old king's ways, which were fair and humane. There were cruelties but this was as expected of a great monarch. He would protect this order, as represented by Queen Isabella, to his death.

When Edward entered the queen's tent, all of the highest-ranking lord generals were there, all 22 of them, in command of an army of more than 20,000 men-at-arms and a third of which would ride for the castle come dawn.

The rest would spread out to secure the route area while Edward and 30 of the best knights - and not just nobles but warriors - would be escorting the queen as personal guards.

There was only one woman in the tent, the queen, and 37 men including Edward. Twelve men were sitting around the war table with the queen.

His father took the last unoccupied seat but he himself remained standing as befits his second-tier position, slightly to the side, about 10 feet away from the queen who was in profile and listening to one of the nobles giving the solemn but rapt audience a briefing.

He stood still and stared.

The queen's sable hair was unbound and flowing behind her back, a dark chestnut mane. Even sitting down, he could tell that she was a delicate, petite girl.

Gazing fixedly at her clean, pale profile, his heart leaped and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his breath was taken away as well.

While Lord Worth was speaking, the queen turned her head and looked directly at Edward.

And God in Heaven help him! He found himself facing what had to be the most breathtaking woman he would ever see in his life.

She had the lightest, most expressive brown eyes. She stared back at him, unblinking, her face without expression.

Edward was rooted to the spot, flustered and mesmerized, and all he could do was stare right back at her, forgetting to bow respectfully, as was expected of him.

Worth stopped speaking, noticing the queen's inattention. The whole tent fell silent.

It seemed the silence went on a long time instead of seconds, broken only when Edward abruptly wrenched himself out of his frozen state and bowed to the queen, finally.

Clearing his throat, his father formally presented him.

"My liege, this is my eldest son, Edward. He will be in-charge of your close-in guards while in route," said the duke.

"Your grace," Edward intoned. He took several steps forward, his eyes now courteously averted to the ground.

There was a significant pause before the queen spoke.

"Edward Cullen," the queen said softly.

Her sweet voice pierced his hot skin and traveled straight to his very soul.

His heart was pounding, his nostrils flared as he inhaled her distinctive strawberry scent.

He slowly looked up at her, dryness in his mouth.

"What is the name of your new son?" asked the queen.

Edward was startled by the question, but he answered at once.

"His name is William, your grace," he said huskily.

The queen nodded at him and turned back to Worth.

Edward let out a long breath and slid further to the side, now 15 feet away from the queen.

He was shaking.

He released another tortured breath.

When he looked at her brown eyes, something stirred in the deep part of his soul, some emotion he couldn't even begin to identify.

Edward crossed his arms and scowled. He didn't understand what had just happened. When the queen pinned him with her unrelenting stare, he felt his breath leave him and there was a sharp tightening in his stomach muscles as if he had been kicked by a manic horse.

All his muscles hardened and he felt as if an iron fist was squeezing his heart.

* * *

For the rest of the war meeting, he stayed in the back of the tent, hidden from the queen's view.

She never looked his way again and for that he was both relieved and oddly bereft.

Two hours later the meeting was over and they all departed the tent.

He stood silently outside of the queen's tent, his head bowed as if in deep prayer.

No one minded his tall figure, standing sentinel. He was the queen's guard, after all.

But Edward was not praying, silent and supplicant as he seemed to be to the casual observer.

He was utterly in shock.

_God in Heaven ... _

* * *

*****a/n**

Welcome to QAC.

1. Part 1 chapters are short, about 1,500-2,000 words (usually). Part 2 and 3 chapters are longer between 3,500-5,000 words. After that, the chapters will only become progressively longer.

2. There will be future lemons but it is a slow burn.

3. This is a multi-POV story but its Edward-Bella centric. It's a romance story after all.

* * *

**Brief genealogical list of QAC characters:  
**

1. **House of Cygne** (ruling noble family of England and parts of Scotland)

King Charles (deceased) - Queen Renee (32 years old in Chapter 1)

Children:

Queen Isabella (16 years old, crowned after George's death)

Princess Angela (14 years old)

King George (deceased at 13 years old. As the heir apparent he was crowned after King Charles' death)

2. **The Cullens of Kent, Lumberland and Forks**

Lord Carlisle Cullen, Duke of Kent (41 years old) - Lady Elizabeth de Montfort (39 years old)

Children:

_*Lord Edward Cullen_, future Duke of Kent (22 years old)

Sir Jasper (20 years old)

Sir Emmett (17 years old)

_*Lord Edward Cullen _– Lady Tanya Mullineaux (20 years old)

Children:

Lord William Cullen (11-month old)

3. **The Brandons of Brandon**

Lord Godfrey Brandon (deceased), Earl of Brandon – Lady Esme Leofric (deceased)

Children:

Lady Alice Brandon (16 years old)

Lady Rosalie Brandon (15 years old, from his second wife Lady Rose Hamill who remarried when Lord Brandon died, leaving Rosalie in the castle when King Charles became her and Alice's guardian)

4. **The Argylls of Argyll**

Lord James Argyll, Duke of Argyll (39 years old) – Lady Victoria Montgomerie-DuFour (22 years old)

No children

* * *

All character names in the story, except for some not generally recognized, belong to the author of The Twilight Saga. Plot lines and settings not identified or familiar to Twilight belong to the writer.


	2. The first morning

**Stephenie Meyer****'s** Twilight.

**Chapter1/The first morning**

[Edward]

He dreamed of her that night. He only slept for four hours but it was four hours of _her_.

He woke up disturbed and strangely, he has never felt more alive. He couldn't remember the dream exactly, only that it was about Isabella.

What was it about her?

He was watching the queen's tent, frowning.

He knew she was in a very vulnerable position at the moment. A crowned queen who has yet to take the throne, her seat of power. He would do his duty as heir to Kent, honor his oath of allegiance to the queen. He would risk his own life to protect her.

He closed his eyes, suddenly rigid. The thought of someone hurting her seemed overwhelmingly painful for him, so much so that he had to clamp down on a surprising violence he could feel rising from his very bones. He swore to himself that he would maim, destroy and kill everyone who would dare to harm the queen.

Edward was stunned at his fierceness. He had never felt this protective about anyone.

He loved his family, they were his to protect and to take care of. His son was the most precious life to him, more important than his own.

But this ... _this_ was different.

There was something about her that held him mesmerized.

God help him, his fascination got the best of him and he turned around, signaling to his men that he was ready to escort the queen.

Quickly, he strode to her tent.

He issued his commands to the queen's guards and positioned himself outside of her tent, patiently waiting for her to emerge.

Her two ladies-in-waiting came out and informed him that the queen would be ready in a moment.

He waited, oddly a little breathless like some gangling page out on his first serving mission instead of a battle-scarred warrior protecting his liege.

The door to the tent parted and the queen came out, wearing a hooded cloak and smelling like flowers.

Edward stiffened as if bracing himself for an attack, he couldn't help it.

He bowed, "Good morning, my lady."

The queen nodded but did not look directly at him.

She stood still and he could tell she was taking in deep breaths of the clear morning air.

He stared at her.

* * *

[Bella]

Breathe, Bella. If it was the last thing you would _ever_ do …

_Breathe!_

Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at his feet first. _Look up. _

She felt her lungs shrinking, refusing to exhale.

He's only a man, she chided herself. And, you're the_ Queen_.

She could hear his voice from the night before, as deep and as soothing as ever, only he was addressing her directly and she was not hiding behind windows observing him in secret.

She remembered how amazed she felt, seeing him there, although why she was startled to see him when he was Kent's son … and he was the bravest warrior in the realm … she sighed.

When you have dreamed of someone for so long and to suddenly be confronted face to face, wouldn't you freeze and act cold, too? In a desperate effort to control your emotions?

* * *

Last night, as soon as the tent door closed, she sagged unto herself.

"Bella?"

She looked up at Alice. She was surprised to find herself sitting on the rug. "Did I collapse?"

"No, cousin, you _melted_," she said, amused. She too sat on the rug beside her.

"You saw him?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. Did you embarrass yourself?"

"I did not!"

But maybe, she did. She groaned. As usual, she said the first thing that came to her mind! She couldn't help it. And she shouldn't do that anymore.

She must always see and hear everything, but say nothing. "A ruler to rule," her father imparted to Georgie once, "must always hear all counsel and even then, listen only to your own head and then your heart."

The king never thought she would _rule_ this kingdom. She closed her eyes, trying not to cry, or tremble.

"What are you two whispering about?" This from Alice's half-sister, Rosalie. She was arranging food on the table and at the same time giving instructions to a serving maid.

"Oh, nothing!" Alice hastily got up and pulled Bella with her.

She backed away and curtsied.

Bella walked to her small daybed and sat. She could hear her waiting-maids busying themselves to prepare for the early departure at dawn.

Alice appeared suddenly at her side and bending down, helped her remove her surcoat, silk dress and undergarment. Thank Mother Mary she wasn't wearing any corset. Hateful little constricting things.

"He's outside," her cousin whispered.

"He's my guard."

"That's not why he's outside," Alice said mysteriously.

Bella raised her eyebrow.

"He's _the One_."

At this, Bella rolled her eyes.

Alice was always aspiring to be like her mother, Lady Esme, bless her soul.

When her mother was alive, she was known all throughout the kingdom as a wisewoman. Also called a _witch_ by some dangerous circles.

"How do you know?" Bella decided to humor her.

"My mother told me so," Alice said quietly.

Bella did not bother to say the obvious and fruitless observation: _"But your mother is dead."_ She ignored her last comment instead.

Alice helped her wash and change into her night wear. Rosalie brought her food and ostensibly waited on her. She wasn't fooled.

She smirked at the two of them. She grew up with the half-sisters.

They were being groomed to be ladies-in-waiting to her own mother, Queen Renee, but when she ascended to the throne, she chose Alice and Rosalie to be her "maids of the privy."

Alice was only glad to be her companion and waiting-maid. They were inseparable anyway.

Rosalie was in it for a good marriage later on. Being in the castle all the time would expose her to all the great houses of England and France and maybe one day, marry a distinguished, wealthy title.

"Too bad Kent's taken," Rosalie suddenly blurted out, letting her know she was well attuned to what was going on. "An Adonis like him, so tall and manly_, _and heir to a dukedom!"

Bella glared at Rosalie. But then she realized her cousin has no clue, after all. She was only making an observation - that if Edward was available to wed, she would grab him _and _his title, in a blink.

Still, she went to bed last night restless, worried and strangely excited.

If I die before I reach the castle, she thought tiredly, then so be it.

_But Edward will not let that happen_, said an insidious voice inside her head.

In her mind's eye, her last vision before sleep came for her was his fierce emerald-green eyes and his soft lips bending down closer to her face ...

* * *

[Edward]

He realized he was staring.

He gazed down at his hand which was held out before the queen, as if pleading for something. He quickly dropped his arm and assumed a respectful pose.

"Edward, who is your most trusted friend? Someone you would trust to guard your own heir?"

He was beginning to get used to her forthrightness and straight questioning. She started walking to the center of the camp and he followed six steps behind.

"That would be my brothers, my lady. May I ask why?"

Isabella stopped walking and gazed up at him. He was now standing closer to her but he did not back up.

"If they are not too attached to you and your own, bring them to the castle when you get back to Kent."

"It will be done, your grace," Edward said readily, looking down at her.

This close, he could see the specks of dark gold in her brown eyes. He gritted his teeth and he could feel sweat at the back of his neck. _Merciful Heavens_. He couldn't, of a sudden, recall his wife's face.

"I am grateful to you and your family, Edward," she said softly. She resumed walking until they reached the generals and his father's tent.

The ladies-in-waiting followed the queen to one of the makeshift stables. He was about to follow himself but his father, bursting from his tent, drew his attention.

"Edward, there is trouble. Quickly!"

* * *

*****a/n**

The titles/position in this story so far, and how some of them are addressed - - -

1. King Charles (deceased) and his wife, Queen Renee, have three children: Isabella (now Queen), Princess Angela and King George (deceased).

2. The Cullens of Kent: Carlisle is the Duke of Kent; his wife is Lady Elizabeth, Duchess of Kent; and his sons, Edward, Jasper and Emmett. Both Carlisle and his heir Edward are referred to as "Lord Kent" or "Kent". Jasper and Emmett are usually addressed as "Sir Jasper" and "Sir Emmett".

3. The Brandons: Earl of Brandon (deceased) was a second cousin to King Charles. The earl and his wife, Lady Esme (deceased), have a daughter, Lady Alice. Brandon took a second wife when Lady Esme died and they have a daughter, Lady Rosalie.


	3. Still the next morning

**Stephenie Meyer** owns Twilight.

**Chapter2/Still the next morning**

[Alice]

"My lord," she said loudly, curtsying low as soon as she has his attention. "The queen bids you to make accommodations for her waiting-maids. Two of us, my lord …" She dipped to the ground once more, for good measure.

"What is your name, lass?"

"My name is Alice of Brandon, sir."

"Ah, Lady Esme's daughter ..."

She peeked beneath her lashes at him. Her brow creased, wondering if she detected suspicion in his tone. _Did he know?_

"The answer is no, Lady Alice," he said mildly.

She stood up straight at that, surprised.

"But the queen –"

"No." Not so gently this time. He bowed formally and strode away.

Alice stopped herself from running after him. Why, what an arrogant man!

She whirled angrily about, looking for her sister. When she didn't find Rosalie, she returned to Bella's tent.

* * *

"Kent refused to bring us with you, my lady," she said, letting Bella know she was angry. She was always annoyingly formal when incensed by something or _someone_.

"And did you ask him why?"

She looked up just in time to see Bella hide her small smile.

Alice moved closer to her to whisper fiercely.

"Lord Kent ... _Edward_ is being perversely bullheaded! What did I tell you? He won't bring us with you because we're _girls_."

Bella sighed.

"Alice, traveling with me at the moment is very dangerous. We will be attacked, for sure. He's right not to bring you and your sister."

"But - "

"Leave it be."

"Well, can I _at least_ have the satisfaction of going back to him and ask him why? As per your order?"

Bella blushed. "No, don't do that. He'll think I'm questioning his authority."

"Ahem." Alice raised her eyebrow at that. "No one has authority over you."

Bella's eyes flashed and Alice, on the rare occasion that she remembered her place, backed down. She might be her cousin and just _Bella_ to her, but she was still queen.

"Yes, my lady. We're not coming with you. We'll travel with the ancient generals and the old, smelly knights." She sighed with exaggeration.

Alice heard her sigh echoed.

"Alice … be safe."

She suddenly felt guilty about her childishness.

Bella's life was in danger and the journey back to the castle could be fraught with all kinds of peril.

_Oh Lord!_ She might not see her again!

Impulsively, not caring if servants were about, she stood beside her and clutched her cold hands to her chest.

"Bella, it's _you_ who must promise to be safe. We need you! The kingdom needs you!"

She closed her eyes and concentrated hard, trying to see a future, the future, anything! That would tell them what menace lie in their path. Give me a vision. A vision. _Mother!_

Bella cupped her face and leaned even closer until their noses where touching.

"He will protect me, cousin," she said simply, serenely.

Alice fervently wished that arrogant man would live up to his reputation as a fierce protector and warrior.

* * *

[Jasper]

He saw his brother talking to the dark-haired, diminutive lady, the same pretty lady he had been watching on the sly earlier. He shrugged off the distraction - to revisit later, for sure - and he focused on the mission at hand.

But why was his brother scowling now? He was momentarily intrigued. He could tell Edward was not making a good impression on her.

Jasper strolled casually to where his brother was standing.

"I take it you said no to _that_? How could you?" he teased.

Edward shrugged and turned to him, grim.

"What did father tell you?"

A change of subject. This was a warning to him of the state of his brother's temper. Not good.

"Argyll's making a move," Jasper said, serious now.

His father received information that the canny bastard has been recruiting and arming degenerates to go against the queen.

In less than a week, they had to change the queen's route three times and it was making Carlisle very edgy.

"All roads to London have an assassin, or two," he said, quoting his father. "And now they brought friends, thanks to Argyll."

But Edward was no longer minding him, his attention drawn to the dark purple tent at the center of camp.

The queen has just stepped out, followed by the dark-haired lady.

He stopped talking immediately.

Jasper watched his brother stare at the queen with crucial intent.

* * *

[Edward]

Breathing was again, difficult.

The queen turned around and saw him. She parted her lips as if to smile but she stopped, and pulled her veil to cover half of her face.

He crossed his arms, pretending indifference. He felt his brother's scrutiny.

Edward cleared his throat.

"The queen will not come to harm under our watch, brother," he vowed quietly.

"No," Jasper agreed.

"You will escort the queen's entourage, especially yon feisty lady with her."

Jasper was visibly bothered and excited hearing this. He protested though.

"I go with you, brother."

Edward appraised his sibling's face.

He could guess Jasper was charmed by the Brandon girl but he was a soldier and pretty lady or not, he would rather he was where the action would be.

He caught a faint murmur of sound from where the queen was and he turned his attention back to her.

Jasper was still arguing his position but he didn't hear him.

He was watching the queen interact with a particularly ambitious earl, his eyes blazing. In fact, he couldn't stop from looking.

"I _said," _his brother intoned_,_ "you need me to guard your stubborn arse."

He sighed and glanced over at Jasper.

"No."

"What's wrong with you today, Edward? First you say no to that sweet lady and now to me, your lil brother?"

He snorted and turned back to the queen.

But she was gone. His eyes swept the crowd of men-at-arms, knights and pages.

"She went over there, with that dog, Ralston."

Edward said nothing but he strode across the camp.

* * *

[Bella]

She fought a groan.

Ralston, while a respectable man, had a dreary way about him.

The sun was higher now and it was long past the dawn hours. Shouldn't they break camp now and leave? And why was Edward not by me? She thought resentfully.

Ralston has stopped talking, thank Heavens. He was also turning very red and nervously eyeing a presence behind her.

_Edward. _

She was probably turning pink herself. Breathing shallowly, she resisted turning around.

"Kent," stammered Ralston.

The man himself suddenly appeared before her and bowed.

"May I have a word, my lady?"

Heart thumping, she watched Ralston scamper away. She rather felt like doing the same thing.

She nodded as if bored. In truth, she couldn't think of a word to say.

Briskly, Edward informed her of the day's itinerary and what was expected of her, presumably as the subject of all these secrecy and precaution.

Bella was not looking directly at him but at some spot close to his right ear.

She soon realized that Edward was somewhat displeased. He seemed aggravated, or infuriated by something or _someone_.

Was he annoyed with her?

Or, was he missing his son. His _wife_?

Jealousy's ugly green head reared and snarled, baring jagged fangs as if to bite her.

"Edward …"

He stopped his monologue at once. He stepped back politely and waited for what she had to say.

She had to raise her head all the way up.

He was so tall and large, his hair a reddish-bronze in the sunlight. His eyes … Bella recalled one pure emerald stone some prince once presented to her as a gift.

"I …" She blinked, forgetting why she interrupted him for his attention. What? _Think, Bella!_

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Alice skipping fast towards them.

"My lady," she said, gasping. She curtsied quickly. "Sir," coolly to Edward.

They both looked expectantly at her. She was clutching her overcoat and had a blank look.

"Er … Argyll will attack," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

Bella glared at her. _That's all you have? _

She has correctly guessed that Alice's mad dash to her side was for her rescue when she saw her panicked look earlier.

Edward was trying not to display his obvious exasperation.

"Argyll has been attacking everyone connected to the queen for months now, Lady Alice."

"Well this time, he could get _really_ close," she snapped.

Edward ignored Alice's childish outburst.

He looked at Bella instead and went still, suddenly serious.

"I'll protect you," he said quietly, "er … your grace," he added belatedly.

He stepped back two paces. His actions were respectful but he managed to convey dismissal.

She nodded again, or at least tried to.

Still unable to speak, she grabbed Alice – a most _unqueenly_ thing to do – and marched off in the opposite direction.


	4. At first sight

**Stephenie Meyer** has yet to publish Edward's Midnight Sun.

**Chapter3/At first sight**

[Argyll]

_The chosen one_, the witch said.

He grabbed the hair of the nameless wench under him and let himself go, groaning and heaving. He collapsed on top of her, not caring that his weight was crushing her.

"Me lord?" She gasped. He rolled to his side and motioned for her to leave. She hurriedly put her clothes back on and exited through the smaller flap door.

Devil take her if she was wrong! That witch.

"But I'm never wrong, my love," his wife, Victoria, has assured him so many times.

_Not yet_, he thought. Ah, but the witch knows, wife or not, that he would cut off her head if she so much as predict the weather _wrong_.

James glanced over at _the thing_.

He was suddenly gripped by anxiety and he imagined he heard the winds outside howling.

Cursed, they said, _the thing _was.

He has killed many to acquire it. He married a witch to get the blasted weapon, for God's sake!

Agaston entered the tent with good news.

"Ralston's message is proven true, my lord. We have confirmed it," his general reported.

James received this information with a near orgasmic like reaction. He laughed out loud.

_Yes ... Isabella will die today._

* * *

[Bella]

She eyed her mare in dismay.

Ollio, the assigned page to the queen, coughed nervously.

"'Er name is Lilly, me la - … forgive me, yer 'aynes!"

She heard Alice whisper to him – "'my lady' will do."

"Me lady ..!"

The courtesy address sounded ripped from him, almost yelling.

Bella winced, not because of the over-eager page, but because of the white mare. Or was she a filly? Lilly the filly, she thought hysterically.

"Is she displeased wit me, me lady?" Ollio whispered to Alice, dejected. She shushed him.

Not you, my dear boy._ It's me. _

"I hate horses," Bella muttered to herself. Alice heard it, though. She hastily dismissed the page.

"You could … err, ride with Edward. It's safer," she said tentatively.

Bella tamped down her instinct to reply shrieking as if the fires of hell were licking her toes.

"He'd rather eat Lilly's dirt than do what you've suggested, Alice," she said, hurt.

It was true. She could feel a great impatience in him, the need for action. To be gone, maybe? From her presence? Perhaps Edward would rather go home to his wife and … make more little Tanyas and little handsome, brave Edwards.

Alice stared at her for several seconds.

"Bella -"

"I know."

She was being foolish. She forced herself to calm down. It didn't help that she was absolutely convinced that she would expire today.

Still, falling off a horse and breaking her neck was not a good way to go.

"Your grace …"

A knight suddenly inquired from behind them. He bent down to one knee and cupped his hands to help her up the horse.

Ollio, having been sent away by Alice, was hovering about 10 yards off, anxious to be back in the queen's good graces.

Gritting her teeth, she climbed on Lilly, praying for courage. For her _and_ the horse.

Bella prefers to ride astride, if and when she has to ride at all. Many times they had to make a quick run for it if pursuit was in progress.

She smiled at her cousin, her face faking a bravado she was far from feeling.

Alice signaled Ollio to come back and help with the stirrups.

Lilly seemed to feel her lack of confidence. She veered to the left and whinnied a little.

Bella closed her eyes, fighting nausea.

Then she heard Edward's commanding voice.

She relaxed her grip on poor Lilly's mane.

Her neck hurt from being restricted, but she refuse to turn around and look at her guard.

She didn't need to, moments later.

Edward, himself comfortably on top of a really large black horse, surveyed her seat with a critical and perceptive eye.

"Lilly is a well-trained horse, your grace," he said softly, soothing her nerves.

She nodded. She was breathing very, very slowly, negating the pounding in her chest.

"I trained her myself," Edward added, further calming her. His confident, velvet voice seemed to penetrate her very core.

She felt a thousand ways reassured upon hearing that.

She nearly smiled at him. _Almost._

Edward cocked his head towards her in salute and rode off ahead of her.

If she was on the ground, she might have kicked herself. Her voice apparently has left her. Again.

* * *

[Edward]

He was frowning.

He has been informed that the queen was not very fond of horses.

Lilly was his wife's horse. He brought her specifically for the queen.

Edward sighed. Thinking of home reminded him of his small son, whom he missed very much.

* * *

"Lilly was your gift to me," Tanya said, sounding wistful in a strange way. It was the day he and his brothers left Cullen Hall.

She was holding the mare's reins as if uncertain of the wisdom of parting with her horse.

"And you will be rewarded for your service to the queen," was what he told her, smiling a little.

Tanya gave him a teasing grin. "She already has my husband. Must she have my horse, too?"

_She already has my husband._

It was how she said those words that were bothering him.

* * *

He turned his horse around and watched the queen. Edward told himself it was his duty to do so.

Watching her … her porcelain face, her delicate gestures, the way she talks to men her voice both shy and firm … it had become a part of who he was.

He could feel her heat, smell her scent distinctly, and when she chewed on her lower lip when she was worried, he felt himself succumbing, yielding, and it was coming from his very bones.

He realized he wanted her.

He really, really wanted his queen.

* * *

[Carlisle]

His son was frowning.

He was doing that a lot lately.

Edward was also staring fixedly at Isabella.

He was doing it more often than Carlisle cared to admit to himself.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the horizon.

Edward was a doomed man.

Heaven have mercy on you, my son, he thought.

The temperature around him suddenly changed. He stood still, his back stiffening.

"And was Heaven merciful to you?" whispered a disembodied voice, floating, echoing.

He shivered, the hair at the back of his neck bristling.

"God rest your soul, Esme," he said softly.

* * *

*****a/n**

The titles/position in this story so far - -

The Argylls: James is the Duke of Argyll; his wife, Lady Victoria, Duchess of Argyll. Both are addressed as "Lord Argyll" and "Lady Argyll."


	5. Clash

**Stephenie Meyer** owns the copyright for Twilight.

**Chapter4/Clash**

[Edward]

Emmett met Edward's squad at the border of Orkney, half a day after leaving camp.

"We go through the Balan Pass, brother," he told him.

Edward cursed.

Balan Pass was the territory of the French bastard, Laurent de Marseille, nephew to the Duke of Montgomerie.

"Boar's rotten ass! That's suicide!" hissed Sir Garret.

Emmett nodded at his second-in-command. The three of them would lead this squad. Jasper and his section had left them five hours before to ride along the Pryn towns, which were the faster roads to London.

Edward silently agreed. Traversing the treacherous Balan Pass was similar to leading the queen right to the very gates of Hades.

"Montgomerie had the prince assassinated," added Sir Garret, looking askance at Emmett. "We might as well kill the queen now and go home!"

Emmett readjusted his archery and calmly regarded the two us.

"You want to kill someone, sir? Start with that betrayer, Ralston."

Edward jerked, whipping his head to where Ralston was in close discussion with possibly one of his cohorts. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist in fury.

He checked the queen's location to ascertain that she was safe and without a word, Edward jumped off his horse and stalked to where the bastard was.

Ralston never knew what hit him.

He dragged him off his horse and slammed him against a large tree trunk, hidden from everyone's view.

"How much did he pay you, dog?" he said conversationally, giving him a feral smile.

Ralston disintegrated at once.

"Oh, God, no … no, no! Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't -"

Edward drove his fist into his belly and he watched, unsatisfied, as the bastard slumped to the ground.

He barked to his men to "truss up this traitor and give him to my father." Two knights lugged him out of sight.

Edward stood stock still. He wasn't going to run the bastard with his sword. He wanted to, consumed with the bloodlust to do it, and the queen would not notice.

He stared at her for a moment, a bit startled by his intense reaction to this threat on her life.

He should have killed him, he snarled to himself.

A page led his black steed to him and he swung up easily, nudging his horse to where his brother was silently regarding him.

"He's still alive," Emmett said blandly.

He shrugged. The truth was he would not like to shed another's blood before the queen, despite that it was the tainted blood of a traitor. Also, there was no honor in killing a sniveling coward.

Edward, Sir Garret and Emmett, followed by two more ranking knights, rode off to a discreet copse of trees to discuss the new plan.

* * *

[Bella]

She watched Edward, his knights and a large man head towards the thickets.

She peered down at the waiting page before her.

"Me lady, Lord Kent 'as ordered rest 'ere fer dae evenin'. May Ah assist ye?" he said nervously.

"Thank you, Ollio," she replied, wondering what was going on now. It was hardly dark and there was still a good three hours of light to take advantage of.

She stared at the page absently, frowning.

She had just counted the horses. There were only 27 left, including Edward's.

Ralston and two knights were gone, she noticed.

And, who was that man with Edward?

It was only when Ollio's face was turning beet red and rivulets of sweat were running down the side of his face that she nodded.

She was the only female in the team and it seemed Ollio – painfully shy Ollio - was her personal "maid" now. There was only one tent put up, a small one, and it was hers. The page led her to it but she didn't go in yet.

Unbidden, her cousin's words came to her suddenly.

"Follow everything he will tell you," was Alice's last words to her before they separated.

She had been trying to warn her about the journey since that morning.

"Will he come to harm?" she asked softly, her eyes on Edward.

Alice did not reply.

* * *

[Argyll]

James watched the poor boy's face go from sickly pale to deathly white. He has lost a lot of blood.

He crouched down next to him, nodding dispassionately at his severed hand.

"So what you are telling me," he said, "is that the Duke of Kent sent you here with a message."

The boy nodded painfully.

"Well, what is it?" James said, impatient.

He realized Ralston was probably on his way to the hangman's gaol to be tried for treason later on. Or, he could be dead.

"E-Esme."

It was James' turn to lose all the blood on his face.

* * *

[Edward]

It was getting late but he found himself standing outside of the queen's tent.

"Your grace," he called mildly in case she was already asleep, although he could see a candle still burning inside. "It is Edward."

There was a rustle of sheets and he saw her silhouette rise up from her low bed.

He stepped back and looked away.

The tent flap opened and she emerged.

He tried not to stare at her disheveled appearance, but something began to quicken in his lungs.

He cleared his dry throat.

"My apologies," he said. "We will stay here for another day, my lady."

"What happened to Ralston, Edward?"

He wasn't surprised that she had noticed his absence.

"Imprisoned, my lady. He will face the tribunal as soon as you are installed at the castle."

He felt, rather than saw, her shoulders sag.

"My brother, Emmett, found evidence of his collusion with Argyll, my lady. The law will try him for his treachery."

"He will hang," she said softly, sadly.

She sat down suddenly on the stool placed hastily beside her by a page, and covered her face with her hands.

Edward froze. He looked around, and then remembered that Isabella was the only woman in the camp. No waiting maids to console her. He flexed his fingers, unsure, hesitant.

What would he do if she cries? He thought in panic.

He wouldn't be able to stand it. He would rather ride all night, hunt Argyll, rip his intestines out and strangle him with it.

Carefully, he crouched down next to her until his face was at a level with hers.

"It's not my place to say this, my lady, but Ralston will not be the first to stab you when your back is turned," he said gently. He knew the taste of the worst betrayal there was, and he realized, so did she.

He wanted to take her hands off her lovely face and assure her that for as long as he lived, the Argylls and the Montgomeries of the world would never harm her.

_God, Isabella. What are you doing to me?_

"You need to leave," she blurted out, her hands now gripping her knees. "You are relieved."

He stared at her, confused.

"I'm not going anywhere, my lady," he said, momentarily dumbfounded by her fierceness.

"That's a command!" she whispered intensely.

"My duty is here, Queen Isabella," he said, his voice firm.

He stood up, schooling his facial features not to glare ferociously at her. He realized she had to crane her neck to look up at him, so he stepped back three steps. He needed to put some distance between them.

_Leave you?_ He thought, grim. _I couldn't even take my eyes off you and you want me to abandon you? _

"Your duty?" she said, rising to her feet. "Is everything about duty to you?" She declared it in defiance but there was a hint of vulnerability in her tone.

"I am born to duty, my lady," he said calmly. "So are you."

They stared at each other. Then, stiffening her spine, she turned away from him, clearly a dismissal.

"Good eve to you, Lord Kent."

He bowed to her and did not look up until he heard the tent flap fall back into place.

He finally straightened up to find the page gaping at him.

"What's your name?" he snapped.

"O-Ollio, sir!"

"You are her shadow. You do not move away from her, you will _never_ leave her alone. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yessir!"

He glared one last time at the closed flap door and strolled angrily away.

_Bloody woman._


	6. Roosting

**Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight was published in 2005 about two years after the first draft was written.

**Chapter5/Roosting**

[Bella]

_Bloody man._

Die for duty! he said, she thought furiously.

"Why should his death matter when _thousands_ have lost their lives for this blasted kingdom!" Bella muttered to herself, pounding her pillow.

It seemed impossible that he would, _could _matter above all things!

_I am an idiot, _she thought.

Buried under her blankets, she finally cried.

She thought of her father and Georgie.

Both gone … both brutally and cruelly wrenched from their loving arms.

Her father was king and her poor brother, his doomed heir. But they were her family first.

* * *

Her mother saw the king die. They were ambushed on their way back to the castle after visiting a nearby liege domain. Only two hooded assassins, her mother told her, numbed, clutching her father's crown.

Her mother did not cry.

"Fetch our new king, child."

Georgie was standing still over the bloodied remains of the old king.

His dead eyes were opened, blank and opaque, as if shocked by the heinous acts being committed on Himself, the ruler of England.

Georgie had knelt down and lifted up the cloth they'd placed on his chest, and he touched his fatal wound.

He carefully, respectfully, laid his hand over the king's eyes to close them, praying for his eternal repose.

"Georgie," Bella whispered brokenly, falling on her knees beside him. She brushed his hand, clammy and cold.

Her younger brother turned to her and rising, had lifted Bella up, as well.

"I am king now," he said quietly.

Two months later they killed Georgie, too.

_Born to duty, _Edward said.

Her tears were gone.

"Noble son of love," she whispered. "I am a slave to your charms; with but a single word you could relieve my every pain ..."

* * *

[Edward]

His men were early risers, despite that they were all to stay put here, in this secluded fief until Emmett's messenger arrives.

The queen has yet to emerge from her tent and for that, he was thankful.

He kept hoping … and watching.

He was so uncomfortable, sensitive to her every nuance.

He hated it.

They were surrounded by danger and her life could be taken away in the blink of an eye. Or the snap of a deadly, accurate arrow, he thought, grim.

And yet, strangely, he felt that his life had just begun.

"Mightn't best for her ladyship to stay up at the manor, sir," the queen's vassal inquired.

Emmett had summoned him last night, and ordered local men to surround the area while they were roosting.

"Too far from the trail, sir," Edward replied politely.

The vassal already knew his offer would be turned down for security reasons. Still, he had to make it for courtesy's sake.

The man kept glancing over at the queen's tent.

Her page, Ollio, was staring back with suspicion.

Good lad, he thought, amused. He let out a low laugh.

"Not to be disrespectful, but my lady as told me, she'd seen the queen as a lil child, and pretty as the sun she was, my wife said."

The vassal rummaged the deep pocket of his coat and took out a linen-wrapped package.

"My wife asked me, do I give this to you, sir, for the queen," he said, bashful. "We've pledged our allegiance to King Charles, you see, and to his father and his grandsire before him. And, with that," his chin indicated the gift, "we renew our loyalty to his daughter."

Edward stared at the package for a moment, his chest swelling.

Her moods, which were low last night no thanks to him, would considerably improve with this token.

"You've a prosperous fiefdom here, my good man," he finally said. "The queen will honor you for your gesture."

The vassal flushed deep red, pleased.

He was suddenly sorry for his brief loss of temper last night. He knew a line was crossed with his refusal to follow the queen's order. But, what sort of command was that, anyway?

He took an oath of allegiance and yes, of duty and faith, and he was bound to protect everything that was hers to rule and own.

This vow was unbreakable.

_Even in death_, he admitted, deep in his soul.

He paused in his musings when he saw Ollio bristle to attention.

Isabella was awake.

* * *

[Bella]

Bella had barely taken two steps when too-eager Ollio almost tripped her.

"Ollio," she said, extremely patient. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

"Oh! Och, nuthin', me lady!"

He stepped back several paces, head bowed.

She continued to regard him and then she caught it. The poor boy darted a quick glance in the direction - she noticed first thing, as soon she came out of the tent - where Edward was standing.

She nodded at the page and stood in front of her tent. She knew Edward would come to her, sooner or later.

Without asking her, Ollio sprinted towards the big kettle, the contents of which were simmering away, and he snatched a pewter bowl containing whatever was recently boiled.

It was rabbit stew, she saw.

She wasn't hungry really but she obligingly took a spoonful of the surprisingly tasty meal.

Another page hovered behind Ollio while she was eating. She recognized him as Edward's.

She inclined her head towards him. He cleared his throat.

"Gud mornin', me lady. Ah, err, Lord Kent 'as bid me tae attend ye."

Ollio and another one?

Was he insane?

Why assign two pages who were clearly uncomfortable in her presence; couldn't even help her dress, or -

She put down the spoon slowly.

Guards.

As if 27 warriors weren't enough to protect her.

Bella took a bite of the soft meat. She chewed, swallowed, and said, "bring Lord Kent to me."

* * *

[Alice]

"Well," she said, choosing her words carefully, "love potions don't always work."

Jasper was riding alongside her. They had to slow down to a trot as they managed the tricky incline of the hilly roads.

He's a terrible flirt, she thought.

"Well now, my lady, perhaps to _you_, they will not work. And more importantly, you don't need these vile things."

They had been discussing the virtues of arranged marriages, hence, love spells and potions.

"Ladies and lords of high birth must wed to bring lands together, sir," she said primly.

He threw back his head and laughed. Loudly.

He was a fiend! And handsome, she grudgingly acceded. He carried himself with an air of self-possession that probably came from the name "Kent".

"May I ask why you are not betrothed still? A pretty, highly placed noblewoman such as yourself," he said, rather bluntly.

Oh, that's because _I'm the spawn of the Bride of Baphomet_, she thought sarcastically.

"Who I wed is not my decision, sir."

"Whose then?"

Why does he sound so baffled? She thought, confused.

"The queen's."

"And do you think the queen will choose your future husband based on his title and landholdings?"

Alice opened her mouth to reply, "most assuredly, yes!" but she paused.

At home, in the castle, where she and her sister grew up, they were considered as just afterthoughts after the princesses. This did not affect her. She knew her place.

Still, she and Bella had been assigned to share a room the moment they reached their fifteenth year. She was not entirely sure why, but it was Queen Renee's decision and no one _questions_ the queen mother.

But they were orphans, Rosalie and her.

Their father, while the son of a second-born prince, was no longer a direct descendant to the throne. That possibility disappeared when the Earl of Brandon died and left no male heir.

By birth, she and Rosalie were assured arranged marriages for political reasons.

But … Bella was queen now and she had always been different. With her, Alice always felt she has a voice, that she mattered.

What if Bella asked her to choose a husband?

She looked at him at last.

"No, sir," she answered quietly. "The queen will marry me to my chosen one."


	7. Siren's Song

Summit Studios, the maker of Twilight films, recently announced that Bill Condon (of Dreamgirls) will direct Breaking Dawn, also by** Stephenie Meyer. **

**Chapter6/Siren's Song**

[Bella]

She looked up and was instantly both assured and intimidated.

Between Edward and this large man, and yes Ollio, she would probably live to an auld age of 103, the way these three were hovering over her, Bella thought with amusement and awe.

For some reason, looking at the giant knight, she thought of Rosalie.

But Edward was to inherit the dukedom. It was unfortunate that one of her cousin's requirements was a title, not just landholdings or a huge manor house.

I could always bestow on him chieftain, if Rosalie should fancy him, she thought.

"Are you married, Emmett Cullen?"

That startled him, and he tightened his grip on his bow.

I see, she mused. Not a marrying man, this one.

"I have no wife, your grace," he said stiffly, hunching, as if trying to hide from her unflinching gaze.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edward's mouth twitch a little.

Perhaps because the bloody man has yet to say something, preferring to stay in the background after introducing his brother, Bella decided to humor herself.

"Have you heard of Lady Rosalie of Brandon, sir?"

"No," he grumbled, obviously not liking this subject. It wasn't lost on her that he dropped the use of her courtesy title.

Edward coughed. It sounded like "Run, idiot!"

But he finally spoke, in an attempt to save his brother from his matchmaking monarch.

"My lady," he formally interrupted, stepping forward and strategically positioning his own large body to shield Emmett from her line of vision. "Your loyal vassal, Sir Tomas Souede, is here to pay homage to you."

Bella, momentarily ignoring Emmett's red face, noticed that Ollio was behind Edward and an elderly fellow was with them, who now paced forward and bowed properly, like court lords do.

Sir Tomas intoned the names of his dozens of ancestors who had previously pledged allegiance to the kingdom, and specifically, to their family as the ruling noble house of England.

Bella graciously thanked him for his loyalty and protection. She also received his token - a gift wrapped in green velvet – with much solemnity as if she was bestowing new knighthood.

When she turned back to Emmett, he had, apparently, made his undignified escape.

* * *

[Edward]

He knew it was impolite to allow Emmett to leave without the queen's permission, but the idiot had started to sweat and his face so red it was almost purple, he looked near bursting.

Edward refused to have a Kent, especially a _Kent_ directly related to him, to expire in mortification before the queen.

He sighed.

"My brother has bid me, err, to impart his by your leave, my lady."

"Indeed."

He continued to avoid looking at her, focusing instead on the immaculate white hem of her overcoat.

Silence.

Should he say his by your leave, too?

He looked up, and wished he hadn't.

Edward couldn't quite decide what to do.

He was here, before the queen, as was his duty.

It was his obligation to serve her and if God in His infinite wisdom would will it - that he sacrifice his life for his liege and for the kingdom.

That he found her beyond his expectations, and more beautiful than he had any right to gaze upon … it was his secret burden, one he knew now he would carry all his life.

She turned her head and he caught sight of the pale, soft skin underneath her delicate earlobe. His mouth went dry.

He felt himself sinking again, that same emotion gripping his whole body and soul, pulling him to an unknown pit of longing.

_Get a hold of yourself, you damned fool! _

He hadn't even known her that long, just two days! It was unbearable now to think of what her presence would do to him after a week, or a fortnight.

Resolutely and with fierce mental force, he planted his wife's and son's miens before him. He held on to their images like a drowning man clutching a drifting raft.

He envisioned Tanya when he first saw her.

Flexing his fingers, he felt the tiny body of his child, cradled in his arms.

But try as he might, it was the queen's exquisite face that swam before his besotted eyes.

He blinked.

His hands began to tingle.

* * *

[Bella]

He was staring at her.

No one has looked at her quite that way before.

No one should _look_ at a queen in that way, or at a king for that matter. Shouldn't they?

She wanted to move, to do something, to avoid his unblinking stare.

Abruptly she sat down on the stool, and remembering the package in her hands, gratefully opened the gift.

It was a beautifully carved box, the size of her small hand, with dainty winged angels lining the sides all around it.

When she lifted the unlocked lid, she was so astonished to hear bells twining that the box fell from her hands.

Edward bent one knee on the ground to pick up the box. He tested its weight in his own large hand before presenting it back to her.

When she didn't take it, he closed the box again, and then opened it slowly, showing her how.

After a moment, she detected a tune but it was unfamiliar.

The sound was heavenly.

"It's called a Siren's Song," he said softly.

His thumb caressed the carvings.

She shivered.

"It came from the Land of Cyrus."

Edward gently laid the musical box in her hands, careful not to touch her skin.

He stood up, and with a farewell "Your grace," he left her there, still staring at her token, warmed by his hands.

* * *

[Argyll]

"Kill him."

It was taking everything he had to just stand still.

James watched as the messenger of bad news died before his eyes.

That bastard Kent has thwarted his plans _for the last time_, he swore to himself.

He tossed his armor and barked several commands to his knights.

"How many days until we reach Balan Pass?"

"Four days, my lord," reported Agaston.

Four days were damned too long!

He needed Isabella dead.

_Soon._

And what more, James could not let that traitorous snake, Montgomerie, snatch the throne from him by killing the queen first.

He had never trusted him or that rat of his, Laurent.

In four days all would be lost!

"We ride hard and bring spare horses!" he growled at his page.

They would make it in two days or someone would die in the queen's stead, he vowed.


	8. Born to duty

Been waiting for Midnight Sun, Edward's version of Twilight by** Stephenie Meyer**, for two years now.

**Chapter7/Born to duty**

[Edward]

There was little he enjoyed less than sharing his doubts with another.

Not that he has doubts, he reminded himself.

Edward changed positions and stood still, half his attention on the queen's silent tent, the other on Emmett and Sir Garrett who was briefing the rest of the knights of the updated plan.

He noticed that his brother let his second-in-command do the talking. Sir Garrett was 15 years older than Edward and although he outranked the knight, they were all used to addressing him by his courtesy title. The fact that all the Cullen brothers were trained by Sir Garrett in the art of archery added to the man's lofty position as "sir".

Edward has detached himself from the group and was now leaning against a big tree.

No ... He has no doubts. He would not let himself to have doubts.

But, he would not lie to himself either.

He glared at the queen's tent.

How could a small, delicate, young woman - still a child really - create havoc inside him in such a short time? He was a man of two and twenty, married, with a son, and heir to a dukedom under _her_ rule.

Edward closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Just 10 more days, a fortnight at the most, and he would deposit the queen in her glittering, untouchable fortress.

It was Carlisle who was the political one after all, not him. He could never tolerate court life and its intrigues. There was no reason for him to be in London, after this.

He clenched his jaw tight.

He would go home and never see her again, he thought with grim determination.

The air suddenly felt hot, so hot, and his heart was racing, as if trying to leave him, to deny him his intention.

Edward let out a choking, smothered laugh.

He would have to go home sometime, _if_ he didn't die first.

He would leave all of this behind and go back to his wife.

_His wife._

He remembered Carlisle's relief when he agreed to a marriage with Lady Tanya Mullineaux. He was 20 and she, 18.

He frowned at the memory.

He had never given his father reason to doubt his loyalty to the family. When Carlisle broached the subject of a _matrimoine_ contract with Tanya's father, he had been agreeable at once.

* * *

The Mullineaux clan, an old French-Scots family like the Cullens, were more French than Scots, or English, and therefore not Kent's natural allies. Their lands were not bordering each other's and there were no previous political obligations between the two families to bind them.

But Carlisle had approached King Charles with the proposed allegiance and the old king agreed. Within the year, Tanya was wed to him. Another year later, little Willie was born.

The day he met Tanya was the day of the wedding.

He remembered breathing a sigh of relief, and he quickly sent a devotional prayer of gratitude to God, when he lifted her bridal veil at the end of the ceremony.

Her reputation did not do her justice, was his first thought. Tanya was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

_Then_, inserted the traitorous, infidel portion of his mind.

Edward brushed the wayward thought aside, and glanced over at the queen's tent again.

He noted in approval that her page, Ollio, was sitting cross-legged on the ground immediately outside of the flap door.

He went back to his reminiscing, and forced Tanya's image before him.

He didn't think it was the proper time to marry at 20, but he was Kent's heir and he would do his duty. Besides, his bride was more than a pretty face. He soon learned that she was a pious God believer, a devoted wife and later, a good mother to his little son.

Tanya has never showed disloyalty to him, and was always dutiful and considerate, to him and to all the Cullens.

Once, when Willie was born, his mother, Elizabeth, asked him: "Are you happy, my son?"

He didn't reply immediately but his eyes found his father, who was then at sword practice with one of his brothers.

"Yes, Mother. I am content."

"I asked you if you are _happy_, Edward," his mother said softly, insistently.

He smiled wistfully. He was spared from answering when one of his mother's maids interrupted them and she had to go mind castle duties.

He had told himself he would not lie.

At the time, with the arrival of his son, it was one of the happiest moments of his life.

Yes, he was happy. He knew that he was.

His disloyal mind split Tanya's image in two. Blonde and brunette, blue eyes and brown.

As if he couldn't help himself, he glanced over the queen's tent once more. He eyed the distance between them.

With a loud sigh, he raked his hand through his hair.

* * *

He was the eldest Cullen and while it was not his choice most of the time, he had to be strict with his brothers. He was in-charge of disciplining them, after all.

With Emmett the youngest, he was fairly successful.

Maybe, _too_ successful, he thought with a wince.

Emmett was a-stick-in-the-mud, and a bit dour. He rarely speaks and prone to avoid women, whom he considers the plague.

Unfortunately for the few noblewomen who have petitioned their poor fathers to arrange wedlock with him, he finds them bothersome.

Jasper was the anti-thesis of all that.

He had failed in that one, Edward thought in amusement.

The middle Cullen brother was always the incautious one, the most adventurous. He was born a charmer and to this day, it was a mystery to his brothers how he had avoided Carlisle's political matchmakings.

If his father was not careful with him, he would wake up one day and find his second son married to a peasant's daughter. Jasper was _that_ reckless, he thought with a sigh.

This was how it was, growing up, in Cullen Hall.

Edward was the dutiful heir; Jasper was the rash, hell-raiser middle child; and Emmett was the obstinate, determined bachelor.

Elizabeth, a most loving mother and faithful wife to Carlisle, was their binding force. She had shown all her sons equal attention and support, and the brothers were all dedicated to her, as well.

His father, Carlisle was a good man … but cold.

With a grumble, Edward crossed his arms and turned to stare at a hole at the base of the tree trunk.

His father has always expected too much of him, from him, his first born. He was, however, lenient with his two younger brothers.

"You are his legacy," his mother tried to explain.

"Or his slave," he countered, half in jest.

Edward has never asked her about Carlisle's biased upbringing of him, but her mother has eyes and she seemed to know more than all of the Cullen men combined.

"He has other sons, Mother, why is he so focused on me?"

For a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of pain in her eyes. He was stunned to see it, and she never meant to show it to him.

His mother turned around, hiding her face from him, and let out a weary sigh.

"Don't try to understand your father, Edward. In time, he will tell you everything ..."

Those words, uttered in his mother's resigned tone, made his heart race in dread.

* * *

"Me lord."

He looked up to find his page, Alec, nervously standing before him.

"Dae queen wishes tae speak wit ye, sir."

Edward sucked in his breath, an unbidden small smile lighting his face.

He nodded to his page and stood up. He moved with speed across the camp, Alec quickly following behind.

He stopped before the entrance of the tent and signaled to both pages to leave.

He took a deep breath, and cleared his throat.

"My lady, it is Edward."

He stepped back, expecting the queen to emerge and "have a word" with him outside.

"Enter."

He blinked, felt his heart stop beating, and froze.


	9. Besotted

As one ficster said: She's not **Stephenie Meyer**, who wrote Twilight, because if she was _her_, she would have published Midnight Sun a long time ago :)

**Chapter8/Besotted**

[Bella]

Bella was alone for most of the morning and early afternoon.

She sat on her low makeshift bed, her legs tucked under her. She had been amusing herself with her musical box but now she was ready for other, hopefully time-consuming activities.

Ollio has placed her writing tools quietly on her bed after the midday meal. She had begun to write a few lines to her mother and her sister, Angela, but her heart was not in the task. She abandoned the unfinished letters after several minutes.

She eyed the musical box once more. She closed her eyes and heard his voice again - gentle and so very comforting that she felt her eyes tearing.

Edward spoke as if he cared for her.

Or, he pitied her.

She cried this time.

_You have to stop doing this to yourself, Bella!_

She sniffed.

Perhaps, he felt sorrow for her, and sympathizes with her loss. Within a year, she had buried both her father and brother. With her uncles on the warpath for the throne and bent on shedding her own blood, she had to leave her mother and sister, too.

"You must be brave, child," her mother had firmly told her, the day she left the castle.

One of Edward's uncles was to escort both the queen mother and the younger princess to safety, hidden and heavily guarded in one of Kent's domains.

Bella had squared her shoulders and promised her mother she would make her father proud.

"Bella," she whispered, broken. "Survive this, my daughter, and damned your dead father's pride!" She cried, holding her in a tight embrace.

"Mother," she choked, shocked. And then she was gone.

Bella shot a desperate look beyond the flap door of her tent.

_I couldn't lose you, too, Edward. _

She could live without him near her, but she _could not_ continue to _be_ when he ceased to exist.

There was no sufficient measure of the depth of her emotions, she thought.

When she was 14, and she heard of his betrothal, she was devastated so much so, that she withered away for about a year.

When his wife gifted him with his first born, she cried for weeks.

He was out there somewhere, was her nightly contemplation of him. He was her first and last thought, almost daily.

She had long since resigned herself into thinking that her unrequited affections would remain so, unacknowledged and unappreciated, for as long as she lived.

She was glad when she was finally able to tell someone of her crucial fixation.

Alice discovered her secret quite accidentally.

* * *

The Duke of Kent was in the castle, as he often was. He was the king's favorite and summoned always.

At a gathering, he proudly announced the assurance of his lineage with the birth of Edward's son.

Bella could not say, even now, why the news shook her to her very core. She felt numbed, and the sensation started in her arms, and down her legs.

She had thought that no one noticed her hasty exit from the long hall. She ran and ran until her knees gave up on her and she fell, sobbing her heart out.

Alice found her.

And so she sat back, tried not to move her aching muscles, and told her cousin _everything_, beginning when she was 10 years old when she first saw Edward right there, in the courtyard, atop his magnificent steed. A bronze-haired _god_. She remembered gazing fixedly at him, awed, thinking if God has commanded earthbound angels, he was one of these heavenly creatures.

She sighed. She'd never told anyone about Edward, except for Alice.

She closed her eyes, suddenly missing her cousins and fervently praying that they were safe.

* * *

"My lady, it is Edward."

She quickly said "Enter" before she changed her mind.

When he stepped inside, his big frame immediately dominated the small tent.

She gulped, now doubting the wisdom of her invitation.

Bella couldn't lie to herself.

She wanted to see him.

She knew something was about to happen. Her life was about to change. _Again. _She could die or … She crossed her arms. It was no use. She had a dreadful imagination and she couldn't get the thought out of her mind that he could die, too.

Nervously, she invited him to sit on the only stool inside the tent.

He hesitated, eyeing the tiny bench, but gamely sat down and waited.

"Honey wine?" she offered quietly.

Before he could move, she got up and took the pewter cup and the small pot of mead from one of the sack cloth and poured for him.

It was a mere graze, the tiniest of touches, but she must have jumped an inch when she felt his warm fingers brushed hers, when he took the cup.

Her cheeks warming, she lowered her eyes and sat back down on her bed.

She was discomfited when she finally lifted her eyes and found him staring at her, the cup of mead forgotten in his hand.

"You have been crying," he said softly, adding "my lady" as an afterthought.

Bella clamped her mouth shut. She gripped her fingers _hard_ until she felt pain.

_Oh dear God_!

She wanted so _much_ to fling herself at him and beg him … _beg him_ … fall on her knees and implore him to stay with her. She would give him more land! She could expand his title; build him a castle next to hers …

_Why, why do I love you so?_

She forced herself to straighten her back and make a huffy sound. She cursed her treacherous tears; she felt one roll down her cheek now even as she denied such weakness.

"The err …" she swallowed. "The dust ..." She shrugged helplessly, feeling foolish and pathetic.

"My lady …"

Edward stopped suddenly. He let out a long breath.

She looked up and she caught the sadness in his darkened green eyes. It nearly broke her heart.

Not knowing what else to do, she indicated his cup of mead. He obligingly raised his cup and gulped down the fermented drink.

Without speaking, she held out the linen-wrapped letters to him and he took them.

"Take these to my mother should I … fall," she said quietly.

He gripped the missives hard. His eyes, when she was sufficiently confident enough to meet them, were blazing.

Her mouth went dry, and she wasn't sure whether her heart had stopped beating, or was beating twice as fast their normal rate.

"_If_ you die, my lady," he said so softly, so _icily _that her blood was curdling at the sound of his voice. "I will not be there to deliver your notices because _I will not_ be around to do so."

She blinked.

"Explain, Edward?"

He stood up, and she was forced to do the same, watching his lips stretch into a thin smile.

_Why is he angry? _She thought, dazed. This tall, powerfully-built man was practically spitting fire and brimstone.

"The only way that you will be _allowed_ to die, my lady," he said finally, his tone quiet and menacing. "Is when I _die_."

She was thoroughly rattled by this man! How could he throw those words in her face. Couldn't he see how frightened she was? She couldn't stand him talking of his own demise.

"I forbid you to sacrifice yourself for this … this _crown_ I can't even put on my head!"

She spun around, unsure of what to do. He made a sound and she jumped, turning to him.

Edward stared at her.

She stared back.

He was standing rigidly, his hands were fisted to his sides.

She saw that her letters had fallen to the ground. Unthinkingly, she bent down to retrieve them. When she looked back at him, she caught his confused expression which he quickly masked.

"Is there a reason why you keep ordering me to renege on my oath of duty to you?"

Her head jerked up violently at that.

"Are you questioning me?" she countered, attempting to adapt a haughty tone.

He stared some more, and finally, he said, "No, my lady, but I will ask of you of one thing …"

He reached out a hand in a gesture of submission.

"You are my queen … but _never_ order me again to leave you for I _cannot_."

"_Why?"_

He smiled grimly.

"I come from old Scots' blood, my lady."

She watched silently as he made to leave the tent, tall and proud, a descendant of the savage, warrior Vikings.

"It is not only duty that grounds me here, my liege. _It's in my blood_."


	10. The killer

Twilight's by **Stephenie Meyer**

**Chapter9/The killer**

[Alice]

She sat bolt upright, sweating. She could still hear screaming but she was not sure now if it was her, or Bella.

Disturbed by the dream, Alice quickly left the tent she shares with the other women in the queen's retinue. The sky was still mostly gray but the sun's red-orange hues were starting to blanket the horizon.

She tried not to panic but her heart beat was racing madly and she has trouble breathing.

"Rosalie!"

She looked everywhere and couldn't find her sister. In desperation she grabbed a maid and ordered her to find Rosalie.

She sank down on a big rock and buried her face in her hands.

Oh, God.

_Breathe_, damned it! _Think_.

She went still, breathing deep, trying to recapture the visions of her dream.

She saw …

An arrow.

It was massive in size and shot from a golden bow.

She watched, mesmerized and in horror, as the notch was released and the projectile of the arrow flew higher, its red arrowhead spinning faster and faster. It swooped at a frightening angle, deadly in its accuracy.

Her dream stopped abruptly, jerking her awake. All she could remember was blood pouring out of a fatal wound.

_Who died?_

* * *

[Jasper]

"Have you been eating wild berries, Lady Alice?"

"No!"

Jasper narrowed his eyes at her. It was very obvious to him that the woman was extremely agitated.

She appeared before him while he was waking up, and told him – a bit hysterically – that someone would die.

"Well … who, then?" he asked, yawning. He stretched and got up, rolling his own saddle pack.

"I don't know," she whispered now, her voice hoarse.

Pity, he was thinking, eyeing her bowed head.

She was pretty in every way, and seemed to have a passionate nature in her beliefs. He liked that in a lady.

What he would not tolerate were fanciful women who would make up stories to get his attention.

"You must take me to Brandon," she said.

"That's not possible, my lady."

Brandon was her home. It was way out of their route and it would delay them a week at least if they would make the detour.

_And we won't_, he told himself.

"Kind sir, please … take me there!" she implored, clutching his sleeve now.

Jasper looked down and stared at her eyes. He was surprised to find green flecks in her brown eyes. He groaned inwardly.

Edward would have my hide if I do this, he thought, tempted.

"Please …"

_Aw, hell._

He grinned, and gently disentangling her tiny fingers from his sleeve, gave her a gallant bow.

* * *

[Argyll]

He watched his 10 archers and singled one out, beckoning imperiously to him.

"You will take Edward Cullen," he barked.

"Aye, me lord!"

Agaston, his second-in-command, would target the other one. It was the youngest Cullen, that bastard Emmett, who has deadly expertise in the bow and arrow. He would die first.

As for Edward …

He gritted his teeth.

He was the most dangerous of the brothers.

James absently stroked the long line of scar at the base of his jaw.

* * *

They were at the king's castle in London and fiercely engaged in sword play. Since Kent's son was too young to joust him officially on the field, James had challenged the boy to a sword fight in private, only he wasn't planning on using just swords. He had wanted to injure him so bad that he would spend the rest of his short life as an invalid.

He had harbored intense hatred for the Cullen brood for years.

Arrogant, patronizing, land-grabbing sons of whores, all of them!

He had wanted to eliminate the eldest son and work his way from there until all of them were rendered useless, or dead.

But he had underestimated Kent's heir. Even at 14, the bastard was strong, wily and cunning.

His blood boiled at the remembrance of the humiliation he suffered that day, bested by a Cullen and worse! By a boy 17 years his junior!

He growled at the memory.

James was bigger, his muscles more defined and bulky, and even though Edward was taller than him, he was lanky. The bastard looked boyish in his whipcord thin body. But when they started fighting, he quickly realized he was battling a man.

It was a long fight, to his surprise. But he was getting furious by his opponent's cockiness. The bastard was grinning! He barely managed to duck away when he started pursuing him, hacking away.

James knew what he needed to do to end it. He drew his hidden blade from his boot, changing his plans then and there from maiming him, to plain ending his life. When he lurched upwards, Edward was quicker, limber, and quickly struck his hand with the knife.

Edward took one look at the abandoned blade, evidence of his sneak attack, yelled bloody curses at him and with a powerful maneuver, struck his shoulder and he fell to the ground. He remembered looking up when he felt the tip of the boy's sword, threatening his neck.

"You have no honor, sir," the bastard said, with quiet menace.

"And what do you know of honor? You whoreson!"

The last thing he recalled was the feeling of warm liquid dripping down his neck. He was knocked senseless.

* * *

He smiled evilly now.

He would destroy him. The _bastrich_ and the queen he was protecting.

"Me lord!"

He was interrupted from his murderous musings by one of his knights.

He glared at him.

"Speak! And this better be good!"

"Scouts sighted dae queen's party, sir!"

"How far?" he growled, pulling up the sword he had struck violently on the ground in frustration earlier.

"Half a day's ride, sir!"

* * *

[Alice]

She was grateful of Jasper's escort and protection.

Still, she was afraid, so very afraid. It had been years since she had visited her home.

Her father, the earl, died without a male heir. His title and lands went to the next of kin.

But her poor cousin perished in the bloody heretics' war, and was without an heir, too.

The king bequeathed her father's manor to her and Rosalie but the earldom and vast landholdings were gone.

Her sister has since declared that she had no intention of living in the old house and for that, she was glad. She loved their old house.

The king as their guardian redrafted the property titles for the sisters, where Rosalie would be given yearly earnings from the small lot attached to the manor, while Alice would inherit the house and all the outbuildings. It was a fair partitioning.

She sucked in a breath when the manor came into view. Without thinking she urged her horse to gallop faster and she shot past her surprised escort.

When she reached the pebbled entryway, she jumped on the ground. The door opened and a haggard-looking, scrawny male peered out.

"Awa wit ye!" he hissed.

She stepped back, startled, then she narrowed her eyes at him. She threw the hood of her cloak back and revealed her face.

"I am the lady of the manor."

Alice heard a gasp from inside the door and then it was flung wide open.

"Oh, me dearie!"

She blinked when she saw her old maid, Charlotte. She looked at her in shock.

"What happened to you?"

Charlotte and the old man – she recognized him now as her maid's brother – were poorly and she could smell hunger and sickness in the air.

She heard Jasper getting down from his horse and standing by her side.

"Step aside, if you will, madame. We have errands here."

The servants hastily moved out of the way to allow us entry into the house.

The smell was worse inside. She blinked and closed her eyes. She shouldn't be surprised to see how dilapidated and unkempt the house looked, considering how her servants were.

Wordless, Alice ran for the big stairs, Jasper following behind.

She burst into her mother's old room and went straight to her secret closet. She tapped the wall three times and it magically opened.

She coughed, inhaling years of dust. She quickly brushed aside at the cobwebs and reaching blindly inside, gripped the heavy leather-bound parcel and pulled it out.

She heard Charlotte wheezing, having run up the stairs herself.

"N-no! Me lady!"

She dropped her mother's grimoire on the dirty bed. Dust flew up and when it cleared, all four of them gazed down at the dark brown book.

"What is it?" Jasper said quietly.

"My mother's book of magic."

* * *

[Jasper]

He blinked, eyeing the object on the bed with caution, as if expecting it to strike at him, like a venomous snake.

"Spells, incantations, summoning demons, and such?" he said, attempting to instill a lighter tone to the situation.

He failed.

He looked at all the grim faces around him.

"Me lady, ye must leave now," the woman, Charlotte, begged Alice.

She seemed frozen, her eyes dilated, staring at her mother's book.

Making a quick decision, he grabbed the book and took her hand, prepared to drag her out of the house.

Outside, past the door, he felt the hair at the back of his neck bristle.

He went still, hearing it.

A singing of the wind, a glimpse of brown, and something struck his chest, propelling him backward with its sudden force.

Stunned, he dropped the heavy book and staggered, falling to his knees.

"An arrow," he said, amazed, watching his shirt turn red.

* * *

*****a/n**

Part 1: "The beginning" is closing there are just 3 more chapters. Part 2 is entitled "The hunt". Thank you for reading.


	11. The witch

Still** Stephenie Meyer's **

**Chapter10/The witch**

[Laurent]

He knew he was slightly inebriated but he was _not_ that drunk to believe that the flame-haired woman walking towards him was … floating.

He tried to hide his uneasiness, watching Victoria, wife to that malt-worm Argyll, glide to his side.

"Your man is incompetent," she said icily, her eyes menacing.

He glared at her.

"Cullen is dead," he gritted out, indicating the peasant at the back of the room. "I was informed of his death."

"You fool! He lives!" No longer cold, she was hissing at him.

"How do you know? Witchery?" he spat.

Jasper Cullen was no more! His assassin witnessed his bloody fall.

Victoria's eyes flashed disdainfully at him and she walked away.

* * *

[Edward]

He sniffed at the air, scenting danger.

The forest was too quiet and that was suspicious enough.

They were riding more slowly now as night approaches.

Hours had gone by since scouts were sent out to check the perimeters and when it was safe, they would camp for the evening.

Edward signaled to his brother to spread out more men.

"The forests are too quiet, brother. Double the night watch," he said.

He guided his horse to a trot and waited for the queen's mount until she was at pace with him.

She blinked sleepily, her hand stifling a yawn.

He looked sharply at her face. She looked so tired. He could see dark circles under her eyes. Her body was swaying and she looked as if she could barely keep her seat.

"We'll camp soon, my lady."

She barely acknowledged his words. Her eyes stayed shut, her grip on her reins relaxing.

He raised his arm but hesitated. His fingers tingled, hovering inches from her back.

"My lady," he said softly, inquiringly.

Her body swayed precariously to the side and he quickly grabbed her arm to catch her. He silently cursed.

They had been riding too hard all day with no rest. They couldn't afford to slow down. Argyll's men were closing in on them.

Edward cursed again, not so silently this time. He leaned dangerously forward, kneeing his horse closer to her mare.

He wound his arm around her tiny waist and lifted her light body off her horse and swung her across the two horses and onto his mount, settling her limp form carefully in front of him.

Unbelievably, she was still sleeping. She sighed and nuzzled her cheek against his tunic.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. He gently wrapped her cloak around her, and gathered her soft and warm body solidly to him.

He sucked in a deeper breath and willed his body to remain still, unaffected. He tried not to think of the woman in his arms, of how sweet her scent was, the feel of her lush curves, her silky hair. He told himself she was like any other female he cared about, one he was sworn to protect, to take her every discomfort as his.

"Edward!" his brother hissed behind him.

Emmett grabbed the abandoned mare's trailing reins, leading her behind his own horse. "She's the queen!"

He shrugged at him and swung his gaze over the other men, all discreetly averting their faces.

"I am her guard," he replied blandly.

"You are not a male kin!" Emmett whispered tersely, scandalized.

Edward looked at his brother who was censoriously eyeing his arm around the queen, and snorted.

He turned away, was about to ignore him when his roving gaze happened to catch the shocked expression of her page - Ollio, was it? And he almost smiled. For some reason he didn't care to over-think right now, he was feeling defiant and reckless.

"Best swear your men to keep their mouths shut and never tell a soul about this." He couldn't help it, he smirked at him. He almost laughed when Emmett harrumphed like a pompous heirophant.

After a moment, his brother breathed out noisily in resignation, but still managed to look uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"Free your sword arm then and stay alert," he said, his eyes trying to penetrate the dark beyond for hidden enemies.

No matter how tired Isabella was, they both knew they were not stopping, not yet. The woods here were not safe.

* * *

[Bella]

Good heavens but I feel so warm, she thought, sighing deeply.

She burrowed her head deeper into the comforting warmth embracing her, and inhaled the scent of pine and misty forest air and … musky, warm smell of … a body?

Bella slowly opened her eyes, still sleepy, still lulled by the gentle movement. Her brain was fogged and everything seemed a blurry curtain of dark green.

The warm place her cheek was resting on was suddenly gone, replaced by cold cloth caressing her skin now, and a harder surface. She vaguely realized she was being laid on a makeshift bed on the ground.

She heard the murmurings of male voices.

When was the last time she heard female voices? Alice? Rosalie?

Exhaustion quickly won out over misery. She closed her eyes again, praying for oblivion.

* * *

[Victoria]

She ran up to her quarters and slammed the door. She ripped off her clothes and donned on a sheer white dress.

She then quickly uplifted the box she has hidden under her bed, exclaiming with satisfaction when her hand gripped what she was looking for.

She yelled for her servant.

"M-me lady!"

She watched the stupid wench, trembling before her.

"Hold out your hand."

"Me lady, I-ah beg of ye - " she stammered.

Victoria grabbed the girl's arm.

Keeping her bruising hold on her, she dipped her hand inside the low neckline of her white dress and tugged at her necklace. The pendant was the sharp claw of an ancient bird, one no longer in existence for thousands of years.

She viciously punched the servant's skin with the blunted tip until blood was dripping.

She screamed.

She slapped her face.

She held out the clear crystal in her hand and soaked it in her blood.

"Oh mercy, mercy, M-Mother of God!"

She gripped the crimson stone and pushed the girl away, who stumbled and quickly exited the room, still sobbing.

Victoria walked over to the window and dropped the bloodied crystal in a stone bowl of clear liquid. She inhaled the fumes rising from the stone.

"Nereus of the sea," she invoked, chanting. The water clouded and she gazed at it, unblinking. The candle's light reflecting on the red surface of the water.

She gasped, and swooned.

"Edward," she breathed.

* * *

"Send your men to Balan Pass."

"Do you send my men to their death?" Laurent sneered.

Victoria smiled, gliding towards the table where Laurent was holding court. She ignored his rowdy men, most of them heavy with drink.

She leaned down and whispered close to his ear, "Isabella's yours if you do what I tell you."

She delicately flared her nostrils at what she was scenting. The smell of arousal in a man was repugnant to her. Ah, but men who fear her and yet lusts after her emits a most glorious odor. She breathed in, savoring his fascinated horror and desire.

Laurent must create a diversion for Argyll.

Her husband _will_ kill the queen, she thought savagely.

Victoria needed the French assassins but not to ambush the queen's party. She licked her lips, thinking about _him_. She needed them for an entirely different mission.

Laurent was still looking drunkenly at her, his stupid mouth gaping open.

She smiled and leaning across the table, she dipped her upper body lower. His beady eyes dropped to her exposed bosoms.

"Send your men, Laurent," she whispered, darting her tongue to lick his ear. "At dawn."

He panted, grabbing her wrist hard and pushing her hand to his lap.

"Isabella is mine," he moaned.

* * *

*****a/n**

Titles/position check - - -

The Montgomeries: Laurent de Marseille is the nephew of the Duke of Montgomerie, former ally of Argyll. The rest of the clan will be introduced in later chapters. Lady Victoria is a member of the Montgomerie family, so she and Laurent are third cousins, twice removed (in short, distant cousins).


	12. Day of the ambush

**Stephenie Meyer's **characters below, the main ones.

**Chapter11/Day of the ambush**

[Bella]

It was unusually quiet.

She vaguely remembered their last ride and she couldn't help but somehow feel embarassed. She assumed Ollio assisted her to her tent when they camped the night before. Although, in the hazy memory that was all that was left of last night, she did remember feeling safe, safer than she had felt since her father's murder.

She imagined her page's skinny arms and shook her head. Who would have thought that boy would be strong enough to hoist her from her horse and carry her around like one of Alice's hidden rag dolls?

When she emerged from her tent that morning, she felt it.

Something was different.

Something was horribly wrong.

She hasn't seen him yet, Edward. Or his brother.

Where was he? She doubted the stubborn man had, finally, miraculously, heeded her command and left the camp to save himself. Unlikely. She would bet her already unsafe life against his leaving. While she felt comforted with the thought that he would never abandon her, it was also the source of her worse fear that because of her, he could die.

Bella looked closely around camp now. She noticed that the men were closer to her tent this time. And even though it was early morning, everyone was armed to their teeth. Even the horses were saddled, their reins trailing idly on the ground, ready to be snatched at any moment.

The pages and servants were not busy cooking and toiling over pots. No fire was lit.

Everyone was wearing grim faces.

She knew her escorts and guards were never a cheerful lot to begin with, but they never wore these fierce facade before. It made her realize why these warriors were handpicked to protect her.

Several things happened at once. Ollio was suddenly by her side with two more pages, hastily apologizing to her for their abruptness. He disappeared inside the tent and by the sound of it, was packing up her things. The two pages with him were preparing to collapse the tent. A huge horse then burst from the trees behind her and she stifled a scream, backing up at once and looking up.

Edward's face was even more menacing and intensely cold with purpose. He jumped down from his beast and stalked to where she was standing. She took another step backward. She could feel her heart thumping hard.

Before he could speak - and she doubted he could speak judging by his fierce look - she hastily asked him the one question she has been thinking of since waking up.

"What's amiss, Edward?" He stopped infront of her. He was obviously holding back a strong emotion.

"Argyll is almost upon us, my lady," he growled. He turned to his page and barked, "get the queen's horse ready. Now!"

She could tell that his mind was elsewhere now, that he was about to walk away from her, only intent on her protection. She caught his arm to demand more answers but she drew back her hand almost immediately.

She had felt the power of the vibrating air after a thunderstorm. It had always fascinated her. Her cousin called it the life force, that it was that vibrant air that gives life. It was that same force she felt on his skin, like a bolt of lightning.

She bit her lip, her hand trembling.

"What _is_ wrong?"

She could see him struggling with himself but finally, he turned back to her and what she saw in his darkened malachite eyes chilled her to her bones.

"My brother and Lady Alice were in Brandon. He was hurt."

She gasped, thinking the worse. Alice was with him? In Brandon?

"What happened?"

"Jasper took an assassin's arrow." He faced her fully and read the worry in her eyes. "Lady Alice is unhurt, my lady. They are on the road back to Cullen Hall."

She nodded but she was far from calmed. The route to London was still very dangerous. Just a day earlier, scouts reported to them that Lord Cullen was delayed in entering the town. He and his other generals had to hack and slash their way, mile by mile, to the castle. They didn't have to tell her the details, but she knew hundreds of lives were lost.

"It would be safer to go there than London, not with my father still fighting his way there," said Edward, his tone was without inflection or any emotion.

"Your brother will heal, Edward. Alice is a good healer."

He laughed but his laughter did not reach his eyes.

"He better." He clenched his fists. "Best he heal first before I beat his undisciplined, dissentious arse." Then he bowed to her, "your pardon, my lady."

She watched him gather his men, heard his terse instructions.

_How many more men will die today?_

_

* * *

_

[Alice]

"It's been two days, me lady," her servant, Charlotte, said quietly.

Alice has just finished changing Jasper's poultice. He was still feverish despite the yarrow infusion that she has prepared to stop the bleeding. The flowering plant would hopefully flush the fever out and encourage swelling to clean the wound from the inside.

Two days ago he was lethargic and very hot, but he was mending. Overnight, his fever turned worse and now he was boiling hot. She cleaned his wound as best as she could with cider and made onion poultice, exactly how her mother taught her. She boiled garlic and seeped the cloth with the plant's extract and she used that to cleanse and bind the wound.

Still, nothing. His shivering has gotten more intense.

The wound was deep and she suspected that the blade was poisoned. It was festering, the color around the sutures was very dark, not the telltale healing of a rose. The rush of blood was encouraged to hasten the healing process but by the appearance of his wound, the blood's flow was disturbed and not clotting properly.

"Shud I send fer dae monk?"

"No!" she hissed at her maid.

_Not yet._

She brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead, sending prayers after prayers to the Holy Mother.

"I beg of you, Mary, Mother of God. Please ... let him live," she whispered. "Let him live."

She leaned down and tenderly kissed his lips.

"Forgive me."

* * *

[Argyll]

He couldn't take his eyes off Isabella. It was easy to identify her, even from this far.

His men were behind a hillock, the perfect ambush. Soon, it would be all over and the queen would fall.

Too bad, he thought, imagining her flowing mahogany hair and her soft, untouched, naked skin.

He could maybe take her prisoner, play with her, make her his slave. But this was the one concession his witch of a wife made him swear, that he present her with her dead body.

He laughed silently. Perhaps Victoria wanted Isabella gone more than he did.

"At your word, me lord."

"The men are in position?"

"Aye, me lord."

"The archers?"

"Trained on their targets, sir."

James licked his lips. His heart was pounding and he was thoroughly aroused, thinking of Isabella finally kneeling before him, bowing down to his power.

"At my word, then," he said harshly, his grin feral.

* * *

[Alice]

She woke up abruptly, her eyes immediately on her patient.

Danger.

Hate.

Pain.

At first she was confused until she sensed her again.

A dark force.

The woman was thinking that he would be hers soon.

_Who?_

She was laughing, she was inanely satisfied.

Pure evil.

_Who?_

And then Alice knew. The skin at the right side of her cold face prickled, as if there were trapped bubbles inside her cheek.

It was the sign.

_Victoria._

She was coming not for Bella, but for Edward.


	13. The arrow

This here is still** Stephenie Meyer's **but not the medieval heroes.

**Chapter12/The arrow**

[Edward]

"Halt!"

He locked eyes with his brother and without words exchanged between them, they jumped off their horses.

Emmett whistled a signal to the men to circle the area, some disappearing to the woods. He squawked a different sound and this time, the archers assumed their positions around the queen.

Edward quickly but cautiously, approached Isabella's mare. He looked up at her apprehensive face and he attempted a small smile.

"Let me help you down, my lady." His hands reached up and gently clasped around her tiny waist, not waiting for her permission. He slid her down and for a brief moment, he felt her warmth and he sucked in a breath.

She was trembling. Instinctively, he felt his whole being surround her, trying to ease her worries, to calm her.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured. He placed a hand against the small of her back and guided her forward, and around a huge boulder. He jerked his head at four of the archers and they followed closely behind.

"Stay here and don't, for _whatever _reason, leave this rock," he told her, forgetting to cushion his harsh tone. He felt, rather than saw her nod of assent. He pointed to a crevice in the rock and watched her sit there, wedged in, almost hidden from view. He crouched down beside her and tucked her cloak more closely around her face.

"Let me do it," she muttered, pulling her hood forward.

"Do you have the dagger I gave you?"

She patted her cloak-covered leg and he nodded in approval.

He wanted her to show him that the leather sheath was strapped safely to her leg but at the last second he hesitated, and remembered that she was his queen. He then thought of what was soon coming and decided to hell with it.

"Hold out your leg to me," he instructed. Her safety was important and she better be ready to whip out the blade and use it against an armored attacker, should anyone slip past their defenses.

She gazed at him wide-eyed, not moving.

"Show it to me, my lady," he said in a more subdued tone.

Her lips pursed for a moment. "I told you, I have it here," she hissed at him, pointing at her leg.

He only lifted a brow at her, waiting, his mien was uncompromising.

She stared at him for a while longer and then she sighed. Blushing furiously, she slowly raised the hem of skirt and cloak, and flashed him the strapped blade before hastily dropping it back in placed. In his mind, he pushed aside the memory of her pale, smooth leg and tried to give her a small smile of encouragement.

"Remember what I told you, my lady. Make downward jabs and look for gaps in the armor."

"I have been practicing," she mumbled.

He looked at her and again, he hesitated. He didn't know what else to tell her to make her less afraid.

He longed for the words to assure her that he would never leave her, and that he would die protecting her.

Edward stared at her and suddenly, everything fell away and it was just her and him. It wasn't as if they had never been alone before, but this was different. They were both about to face danger and possibly death.

Her presence has always shaken him, but more so now.

He made a slight sound and she turned to him.

_God, don't look at me like that, sweet, sweet Isabella._

He needed to leave now but didn't have the strength to stand.

Emmett strolled casually to where he was crouching. He laid the satchel he was carrying near the queen, and with a mumbled greeting he bowed to her and left.

"Food and clothing," he told her after rummaging the contents of the sling bag. He tucked the provisions behind her.

Edward uncoiled his body finally, stood, and looked up at the weakening sun.

"This could take a while, or God willing, it will be over quickly."

* * *

[Bella]

It was dark, and she couldn't move she was trapped between the rock, and it was miserably cold.

She couldn't see anything at all, but she was hoping that the men had a blazing fire somewhere. They would at least be warmer than her.

Emmett would check on her from time to time, and did it on the sly. Of his brother, she didn't know where he was, or what he was doing.

"Tell me what's happening," she whispered, catching hold of his sleeve before he could slink away again.

"They're moving closer," he grumbled.

"Then why don't we just ride out of here instead of waiting for them to attack?"

He snorted and stifled a guffaw. Only Edward's giant of a brother could laugh at a time like this, she thought.

"Both Argyll's men and clumps of Montgomerie's are swarming around us, my lady. We're cornered and outnumbered," he said, nonchalant.

_Oh, God. Where's Edward?_

What she wouldn't give to have to look into his green eyes one last time, to gaze at his face that had haunted her for so long.

She was afraid, so very afraid even knowing that Edward was a brave man. He'd proven that countless times, on and off the battlefield.

Emmett shifted and she turned to him. She couldn't see his expression clearly in the dark, but she could feel his remorse at his earlier bluntness.

"All is not lost, my lady," he offered quietly, in small comfort.

_But it was._

* * *

[Argyll]

James blinked in annoyed surprise. Before him, wearing chain mail over thick skirts, was his witch.

"Husband," she purred and siddled up to him for a cold kiss.

"What in the name of Baphomet's Bride are you doing here, woman!"

She laughed her banshee cackle and revealed to him what she was holding behind her back.

"Give me that!" He grabbed the precious red-tipped arrow and barked to his page to fetch him his gold-limbed bow.

He fixed his icy gaze at the woman in front of him. Victoria was tall in stature, almost the same height as him. Her stance was manly but her face was decidedly feminine despite that her blazing hair was now tamed and hidden underneath a leather cap. Her eyes … he shivered involuntarily. Her eyes were the Devil's own.

"You didn't think I would miss Isabella's downfall, did you?" Her eyes slid to the arrow he was gripping hard, and then moved slowly back up to his face. He tried to hide it but her sugilite gaze was unnerving him. "Today, you make me _queen_."

He growled his acknowledgement.

At a signal from him, men and beasts spurred forward at a gallop towards the rock across the heather.

* * *

[Victoria]

And after today, he would be _mine_.

She could almost taste him.

She had seen what would happen.

When Isabella was dead, Laurent's men, hidden deeper in the woods away from her husband's archers, would swoop down and snatch Edward.

_Dead_ or alive.

_Either way, my love, you are mine._

And she laughed, and danced her way around trees, for the arrow was magical and it was hers.

* * *

[Bella]

She woke up confused. She had not meant to sleep.

How long was I sleeping? She thought, gnawing on her lower lip worriedly.

A half-moon was up and she was grateful. The moon was bright enough that she could see shadows and moving shapes beyond the rock.

As she was resettling her stiff body to a more comfortable position, prepared for hours of waiting, Bella heard the clatter of feet running towards her and her heart began to race in fear.

A bloodcurdling shriek came from directly behind her rock and she clamped both her hands to her mouth to contain an answering scream.

Galloping horses went passed her hiding place and she heard yelling men. Sounds of whizzing arrows flew over her head and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out loud, bit too hard until she tasted blood.

Hair-raising screams echoed in the air and angry bellows ripped through the once eerily quiet woods.

"The queen! The queen!"

Bella fumbled for her knife, her teeth chattering in fright, in cold. She almost cut herself when she unsheathed the blade. She carefully eased her body out of the crevice, crouched low on the ground but ready to spring up.

The shouts and the awful sounds of broadswords and maces clashing reached her ears. They were too dangerously near her rock, almost upon her.

_Oh, God. Edward!_

She could wait for the battle to be over. Wait for her death. Or she could crawl her way out of here … and then what?

Edward told her to stay here, hidden. He couldn't fight and protect her at the same time. She was not foolish enough to get in his way and distract him.

And then she heard Emmett's panicked bellow.

"Archers! Protect Edward!"

The noises of the battle faded away and she didn't think anymore. Heart hammering, she launched herself out of her cold rock.

* * *

[Edward]

Broadsword in one hand, he swung the ax in his left hand and decapitated his attacker in one powerful blow, and not pausing, he struck another opponent with his blade.

He quickly ducked low and to the side to avoid another hit and plunged his broadsword forward, felling another enemy.

The fighting was so confused but he stayed his ground near the rock. He knew his position was giving the queen's hiding place away and he yelled at his archers to crowd the copse behind the rock.

He couldn't make himself leave her, he needed to be a shout away from her. He looked around, and the small clearing was filled with men locked in mortal combat.

"Archers! Protect Edward!" He dropped to the ground as soon as the warning left his brother's mouth, narrowly avoiding a volley of arrows shot his way.

He lifted his head and like a cat scenting the breeze, he looked up, stood and froze. His heart stopped beating.

He saw it and he knew there was no time, that the deadly missile would hit its target.

That was when he heard it. He turned his head just in time to catch a warm body flung its weight in front of him.

He gripped her body closer, for he knew who she was. He felt her body jerk in his arms and her gasp of surprise against his neck.

He spun and twisted his body around to shield her and dropped to the ground with her clutched against his chest.

She screamed as they fell to the ground.

His heart stopped when he smelled her blood. He didn't waste another second in fearful worry and with a rumbling growl, he braced himself and wound an arm around her body tightly. He rose up slashing his way, his broadsword connecting again and again. He was vicious and feral, snarling like a beast protecting his wounded mate.

Hands tried to drag her limp body from his grasp, but he roared and growled savagely, ready to destroy anyone who would take her away from him.

"Edward!" His brother's voice penetrated the red haze. "Let me take her, man!"

He couldn't let her go, not until he was dead, and he held her blood-stained body tighter to him.

"She's injured, brother! Give her to me!" shouted Emmett.

Edward snapped out of his bloodlust and barely stopped himself from cutting the throat of his own brother. He shook himself and gulped air, panting like a dying man. He loosened the hard grip he had on her cloak, and growled at Emmett when he tried to touch her.

"Get back," he snarled.

His eyes, blurred with despair and dread, cleared and he made a guttural sound when he saw the lethal arrow pierced through her shoulder, blood gushing from the wound. Gently, carefully, he laid her motionless form on the ground and flattened his hand against her chest. He almost sobbed when he felt her slow heart beat.

He was about to bark a command to Emmett to get the horse when his brother leaped back and blocked an attack, and threw his broadsword across, spearing an oncoming archer dead.

"Go!" he yelled, and pounded forward, mace swirling above his head.

An arrow shot past overhead and more men, wielding axes and maces, burst from the shadows. Emmett ducked and rolled to where his broadsword was stuck to a corpse and snarling, blocked and shielded them from the attackers, his big bulk moving fluidly in battle.

Edward quickly lifted the queen and ran to a horse. He flung her on the saddle and got himself up behind her. He clucked urgently to the big black and managing both horse and Isabella one-handed, they galloped away into the chaotic clearing, dodging shapeless shadows in the dark.

* * *

*****a/n**

This ends Part 1: "The beginning".

Brief summary of Part 2: "The hunt": Isolated and with no immediate way of contacting allies, Edward and Bella runs from the enemies, forced to travel the towns and forests incognito. The queen, injured, is dependent solely on Edward to keep her alive.


	14. Part2: The hunt

**Stephenie Meyer** will co-produce the two-part movie version of Breaking Dawn.

**Part2/The hunt**

In old King Charles' court, among the three most powerful noble houses, the Cullens of Kent were the most favored.

The Duke of Kent's unimaginable authority and wealth made him and his sons the target of endless envy, so much more so since they were not even relatives of the king, like Argyll and Montgomerie.

In a pretense to solidarity (and to keep the wealth within the clans), the Duke of Montgomerie attempted to negotiate a marriage between his niece, Lady Victoria Montgomerie-DuFour and Kent's heir, Lord Edward. The king, secretly petitioned by Kent, declined the proposal from his cousin, but agreed to a marriage between the eldest Cullen son to the daughter of Lord Mullineaux's, Lady Tanya.

* * *

Victoria and Edward were born on the same year, and while the latter has for the most part of 22 years, ignored the other's existence, the former grew up insanely fixated on Kent's heir. The fact that Edward was married now did not repress Victoria's enthrallment. And unfortunately, her fatal obsession was a source of hilarity between the Cullen brothers, Jasper and Emmett.

As for Edward, he hated Victoria's obvious enthusiasm for him. He was a bit wary, and often times downright frightened of the woman because it was rumored that she was adept in the arts of witchcraft. For years, if he knew she was in the same room with him, or the same manor or castle, or even in the same town as her, he would refuse to touch any food or drink that was untested by paid tasters, for fear of bewitchment.

He was greatly relieved when just last year, Montgomerie arranged a marriage between his niece and Edward's nemesis, Lord James of Argyll. The Cullen brothers Jasper and Emmett, and also Alice and Rosalie - although neither set of siblings were aware they shared the same sentiments – rejoiced in the joining of Victoria and Argyll. Alice referred to the union as the _un_-holy matrimony.

That Alice felt animosity towards Victoria was justified. The Brandon sisters had suffered many years of insults and ill treatment from Argyll's new wife. Victoria certainly didn't pass up any opportunities to humiliate the sisters whenever she was visiting at the castle. Now, Victoria would never speak against the princesses Isabella and Angela, not out loud and never within hearing distance of loyal subjects. But Alice and Rosalie knew the witch had been backstabbing the king's children for years, most especially Isabella.

There was no love among the Kents, the Argylls and the Montgomeries, and the hate extended to their children and kin.

* * *

[Victoria]

She bit her lower lip hard until it bled. Then she took her dagger and with trembling hands she stabbed her leg, relishing the pain. It was a shallow wound but she screamed bloody damnation.

_Imbeciles! _

_Festering, worm-gutted idiots!_

_Cursed all men!_

She threw the blade and it hit a tree trunk. She growled and tore at her clothes, her nails scratching her pale skin until they were raw and very red.

Argyll had gone berserk, chasing after shadows long gone.

He's a fool! He doesn't deserve to be king! She hissed to herself.

She was kneeling on the grass, breathing harshly. She raked at her open wound and squeezed, closing her eyes tight at the blissful pain she was inflicting on herself.

_Edward, Edward, Edward _…

"Victoria!"

She removed her bow and arrow from her back sling and pointed it at the intruder.

"Put that away, woman!" Laurent snarled.

Victoria slowly, gingerly stood, her hold on the string and arrow unwavering. Her gaze was equally unflinching.

"Did you capture him?"

_Tell me you have Edward!_

"Nay," he said cautiously, backing up. His eyes were glued to the blunted tip pointing directly at his forehead. "However," he said, his palms up in mock surrender, but his voice has started to tremble. She laughed, already scenting his blood. "They sighted Cullen's direction and by light's dawn, we will have him."

And then Laurent smiled, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "_Him_ and the queen."

"She's no longer queen," she spat, relaxing her tight hold on the string. No man, or woman, can save her now, she thought, slowly smiling.

_No one!_

She lowered her weapon and took a step towards him. She abruptly stopped, hissing in pain.

"Victoria, you're bleeding," said Laurent, surprised, but unconcerned.

She raised her skirts and showed him her bloodied thigh, and once again, he cracked a smile. The glint in his eyes was lustful.

* * *

[Argyll]

He waved the torch away and wiped his palm across the large overhang leaf. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking the blood. He stood up and sniffed at the night breeze.

"Bring over the tracker," he ordered his general.

Agaston was suddenly by his side and instead of the tracker, he pushed forward one of the archers before him.

"Sir, I shot 'er, dae queen. I got 'er wit me arrow," the young knight boasted, his face flushed with pleasure.

"Why are you smiling?" James dipped his head to the side, regarding the boy curiously.

The archer's grin faded and he paled. He threw a desperate look at his commander and turned back to him. "B-because I … ah w-wounded 'er, me lord."

"Did you kill her?"

"I-ah dun know, sir," he stammered.

He smiled at him and drew his sword slowly from its scabbard. He looked at Agaston and with one swift movement, the young knight jerked forward. His eyes widened in shock and he tried to speak, but all they heard was an ugly gurgle as blood poured out of his mouth.

He looked down at the sword protruding ghastly from the boy's stomach.

"Don't smile." Distracted, James admired his reflection glinting on his clean blade. "And don't lie."

Agaston removed his sword from the young knight's body and he fell dead, his mouth open in a grisly grin.

James sighed and turned to his staring men. His mouth twisted to a poor semblance of a smile. "Anyone else wants to claim my arrow as his?"

* * *

[Edward]

He knew they had to stop soon. They couldn't ride for too long and risk her bleeding to death. She was barely alive as it was, he thought, grim.

At the top of a knoll, he stopped his horse and whipped his head in all directions. Argyll's men were in pursuit but for the moment, by God's mercy, it appeared that they had eluded the enemies.

Edward quickly surveyed the dark woods. He could hear the faint tinkle of a river and he spurred the horse to a moderate trot deeper into a copse of trees.

He carefully alighted and rounded the area, checking all possible entrance and exits to the small clearing. There was light enough from the rising moon to help him. Satisfied of the place's relative seclusion, he ran back to the horse and took the satchels and blanket, and chose a spot where there was enough moonlight to see what he had to do.

Edward slowly, gently, carried Isabella's prone body. He breathed a sigh of relief when she emitted a ragged moan and gritted his teeth for he knew that in moments, she would be doing more than moaning.

He strode to the secluded spot and cautiously laid her down on the blanket. He delicately removed her cloak and coat, and slit portions of her dress where the arrow was stuck. He quickly shed all her outer clothing until all she had on was her linen chemise. Her skin pebbled as a cold breeze touched her.

The pressure of the arrow has stopped the bleeding but he very well knew that as soon as he tore the arrow's tip out, the puncture wound would rupture. He closed his eyes briefly and braced himself. What he wouldn't give for a blazing fire and hot water, but all he had was chilly river water and a healing balm made from Klamath weed.

_Dear God, and Mary Mother,_ he prayed fervently. _Save thy faithful servant and deliver her from all pain. _

He snaked his arm around her shoulders and raised her body to an angle to staunch the inevitable flow of blood. He gripped the arrow's stem. He expelled a deep breath and commending her soul to God, cleanly ripped the embedded blade from her body.

She screamed and jerked against his tight embrace. He threw the arrow away and held her against his chest to prevent her trashing, and with his other hand, he quickly pressed a wet cloth to her wound to stop the gush of blood.

"Be still, my lady," he grunted. Her body has started to shake very badly and her eyes flew open, sightless, staring right up at him. Her eyes were black orbs of pain.

"_Isabella ..._" He felt as if her name was cleaved from him.

"Isabella," he repeated, his voice hoarse, his own stomach muscles were knotting in sympathetic pain. "You will live, do you hear me? You will _damned it all to hell_ survive this or I will beat you! I swear to God!" he pleaded harshly. He tightened his hold on her and buried his face to her neck.

"I beg of you," he choked against her soft, cold skin. "_Don't leave me_."


	15. Alone

Sometime in June (this year) there was an alleged interview of **Stephenie Meyer **posted on the net, and the question was about the publication of Midnight Sun. She said she's not motivated enough to write the second part of the much-awaited Edward version of Twilight. _Oh, sigh._

**Chapter13/Alone**

[Carlisle]

He released his youngest son's tunic, which he had been gripping in his agitation, shock and worry.

Carlisle was sorry that his first instinct was to haul up his son's big bulk and demand that he tell him _exactly_ where his heir was.

"Tell me again," he gritted out. "_Where's_ Edward?"

"He's alive, Father," Emmett insisted. He carefully unclawed his hands from his tunic. "The last time I saw him, he was unharmed."

"And the queen?"

"She was hurt," he growled in remembered anger. He then proceeded to give him the detail of the battle, two days' past.

He patted his son's arm in apology and gratitude that he had ridden all night and day to reach him. It would be a hundred times worse if a stranger, or even one of his men, were to tell him about the ambush but no more about the whereabouts of his sons.

"Are you certain she's alive?"

"Yes, Father," he replied and his confident eyes met his. "Edward will take care of her."

Damned luck that they had to stay in Berkshire, a temporary stronghold while London was besieged by Montgomerie's cohorts and rumor has it, that some French and Irish nobles were lending their support in arms. This would derail the queen's campaign and she could lose her claim to the crown.

That she was missing now was a complication nobody was expecting, Carlisle thought grimly.

It was only his forces' tight rein on the outskirts of most of London, and his hold on a significant portion of the kingdom that was stopping the usurpers. That bastard Argyll could not as yet declare himself king because of this. The queen's court and the lords' council wanted proof that Isabella was dead.

* * *

[Montgomerie]

"Come closer, my dear."

He smiled at the lovely woman before him. He knew she was nervous but there was nothing he could do about that.

She slowly approached his table. He was sitting in his lord's chair. He wanted to invite her to sit down in the chair across from him but he doubted that would ease her obvious dilemma. She was scared out of her wits.

"I trust you have received your instructions?" At her nod, he said, "do you need more explanation?"

"N-no sir," she whispered.

He heard her but still, he wanted it clear. "I'm an auld man, my dear. _What did you say?_"

She cleared her throat and this time spoke with some volume. "I understand what I must do, Lord Montgomerie."

"And that is?"

It seemed that with his question, all the blood drained out of the woman's beautiful face, she was that deathly pale.

"I w-will … I will s-spy for you."

"Louder!"

She jumped and involuntarily uttered a frightened noise.

"I will b-bring you the Cullens' secret p-plans, sir."

She was back to whispering at the end of her sentence but he decided to be lenient and charming. For now, he was satisfied with her.

"You may leave, child."

* * *

[Carlisle]

All the rest of the night he conferred with his youngest son about how to contact Edward.

He knew his son would take a northern course, possibly all the way up north to Saint-Kirk. It was the safest high point bordering Scotland and only the Cullens were aware of this secluded chateau. It was perfect as a hideout. The village at the bottom of the hillside castle was too small to be in anyone's map.

"Father, do you have news on Jasper?" asked Emmett.

"He fares well, son, and is with your mother now." He placed his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of assurance. "Go home and if your brother is strong enough, take him with you and find Edward."

The sun was barely up when Emmett and a few of his men rode out to Kent.

Carlisle surveyed the mass of men-at-arms in his command. So many men, all battle-ready, and no queen to defend.

_Be safe, my sons._

* * *

[Edward]

By the next evening, he had found an abandoned hut.

The roof had caved in, defeated by years of neglect. He has no doubt that a strong storm could easily collapse what was left of the roof. But for tonight, it would serve its purpose and Edward was grateful for the small shelter.

He gently settled the queen on a makeshift bed made of the blanket he carried, hay, straws and a flat wood he found at the back of the shack. He covered her with her cloak and tucked the ends underneath her arms.

Edward tenderly brushed her hair away from her pale face. Her skin was clammy and burning with fever.

Sometime during the day, grasped tightly against him infront of the horse, she had started to jerk, groan and whimper, lost in her heated delirium. It took all his strength to hold her against him and not fall off the horse. At the moment, she was prone and he needed to change her dressing, clean her wound.

He left her side, quickly made a fire, and boiled water using his metal tankard.

While he waited, he continued to rummage the contents of the two satchels he had managed to throw on the horse. He found a pewter bowl and plate, and a wooden spoon and a meat knife. There was no pot for cooking but after snooping around, he unearthed a battered flagon and its mouth was wide enough to allow him to stir food if he had a mind of using it as cookware.

Isabella's satchel, the one Emmett provided for her, contained food – these were dried beef, stale flatbread and apples. And, thank God, fresh cloths.

She was lying very still. He crept closer to her. He carefully peeled the dressing, which was now dirty with her dried blood and road dirt. A little blood oozed out but this has been controlled. He clenched his jaw when the injury was fully revealed to him by the light of the fire. It was swelling and the redness around it looked very painful.

He cleaned the wound quickly but efficiently, taking care not to press too hard on the inflamed skin around it. He applied the Klamath balm directly to the wound. He chewed peat moss that he had searched along the damp foliage near the river and spread it over the wound before bandaging it again.

Edward patted her face and arms with warm cloth in an attempt to bring the fever down.

* * *

[Victoria]

She woke up screaming.

No!

This could _not_ happen!

She hopped out of bed and grabbed a candle. She dashed out of her room and ran past guards to the small, private courtyard hidden behind thick walls. She stood at the center and glared up at the sky. The moon was still half of its full power and this would not do.

Her breathing moderated, became mellow, and she closed her eyes.

She felt it, _her_.

Felt her breathing slow, her heart calming. Her own breathing and heart immitated hers.

She lived. She survived. She was held ... lovingly. By strong arms. Arms she knew should belong to her.

And she heard his whispered words.

And it made her cry out in pain, in malice.

And Victoria knew what she had to do.

* * *

[Edward]

He sat up suddenly, his heart pounding. Someone called his name.

In a heart beat, he remembered where he was and he quickly grabbed his broadsword and crouched protectively over the queen's supine body.

He went still and listened to the night sounds. He only heard crickets emitting faint sounds and the wind lazily brushing the leaves on trees. He let out a breath and laid down his broadsword.

The fire had burned low.

There was a deep groan followed by a thrashing sound.

Edward knelt beside the queen and gathered her in his arms. Her body was shaking and her whimper of pain cut deep to his very soul. He willed his heat to comfort her, to penetrate her feverish mind and know he was here with her, for her.

Her arm suddenly shot out and she grabbed his tunic. She had started to mumble and toss her head. He held her tightly or her thrashing would loosen the dressing, and her wound might bleed again.

"Be calm, Isabella," he breathed in her ear. "You are safe. You are whole."

"No!" she mumbled. Her hand was now gripping his hair and pulling him close to her face. "Dead … don't d-die. Edward ... Killed! Me. Kill me!"

"I'm here, Isabella. I'm alive," he said, his voice louder. "Open your eyes, my lady. See for yourself!"

But she was beyond hearing and her head was tossing from side to side. Her breathing was shallow and rapid.

"God, oh God, n-nooo! Not h-him," she muttered, but did not open her eyes.

He settled her more firmly against his lap and he sat down, his back against the rough stone wall. He continued to murmur soothing words in her ear, even if she couldn't hear him, or comprehend his words of comfort and assurance.

"God damn it!" she suddenly yelled. "Don't die!" And then, "Edward," she moaned. She has started to cry. He touched her tears and brushed it away, his fingers lingering on her flushed cheek.

He hugged her closer and buried his face in her hair, breathing her still fragrant smell, even sweaty and fevered. He held her until she has stopped crying, held her close to his heart until her breathing has slowed and he absorbed all of her.

He held her for a long time, and something inside him seemed to lock into place. His arms wound protectively, tenderly around her, until once again, she succumbed to a fevered sleep.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely. "I will always love you."


	16. Awake

**Stephenie Meyer's **etc.

Magical/ritual words are variations (not actual words because I don't want to use actual spells here) taken from **Sandra Kynes'** Sabbats & Esbats for Solitaries & Covens

**Chapter14/Awake**

[Renee]

She was a king's daughter. She was the late king's wife. She was the crowned _queen's _mother.

She stiffened her spine and met the earl's eye squarely, daring him to acknowledge everything that she was.

"The council will take up your proposal, my lady," the earl said, and she resented the solicitous tone of his voice. She knew the young lord was well meaning but she refuse to be ignored.

Renee counted the people in the small hall, trying to slow her breathing. This was what her husband used to advise her to do whenever she felt her temper rising. When she had counted 50 nobles, she addressed the matter at hand.

"Queen Isabella is in power." She let her voice ring loud and clear. "Her court is wherever she is. England," she paused, piercing the crowd with her stare, "has acknowledged the queen's birthright claim to the throne, by all the laws of Right and Justice, of this land."

The country was war-torn but the throne was intact. She must remind Bella's vassals that the castle - London - was still theirs. There was no news from Kent yet and this was not good. Any news would have been better. At this moment, her daughter was still in route, deep in the forests, guarded by Carlisle's heir and his men.

No one could tell how long the conflict would last. That bastard Argyll and his forces were growing. Renee knew she needed to rally their allies and do it quickly.

"In the absence of the queen," she continued. "I shall stand in her place in this informal gathering of lords. We … you, sirs," she emphasized, "are not in the queen's court because your _queen_ is not present."

She hid a smile, as she watched them all snapped to attention.

"Therefore, as the late king's wife and the queen's _mother, _I will hear petitions only because these need to be recorded for when Queen Isabella returns to the castle. For the time being," she signaled to her secretary, "Sir Hector will list all petitions, grievances and any suits of action on debts. May I remind you however that we are still at war, and while some debt payments have been suspended, not all will be granted the same leniency."

She braced herself to a surge of murmurs, and even not-so quiet protests from the assemblage. There was none, and she allowed herself to relax but only a little.

"My lords," she said now, all charm. "The queen needs all our help. We need to stand together now and maintain a semblance of order." She stopped, assessing faces and their expressions.

"I know my daughter," she said more softly, but still audible to the crowd. "I know Sir Edward." At this she nodded to Elizabeth, who was standing in the sidelines with her daughter-in-law, Tanya. "And she will rule her court, as is her birthright."

"For Queen Isabella!"

The nobles let out a cheer and the small hall reverberated with optimistic words.

"Long live the queen!"

She smiled graciously at them, with no small relief.

* * *

[Alice]

By the light of the half moon, she cast the circle and she touched the ground.

"Stir to life earth, winter's past.

Awake! Awake!

Bring life forth with magick's cast!"

Her feet followed the line until she has completed the circle.

"Spirits of the earth.

Spirits of air.

Spirits of fire.

Spirits of water."

Holding her mother's grimoire before her, she walked to the center of the circle and faced the altar stone she made. She chanted:

"_Noo men … _

_Hroe men … _

_Forr men … _

_Haar men … _

_I kal annoo lee an."_

Alice paused. She felt it. The wind in her hair, the water in her hands, the fire in her belly, and the earth at her feet.

_Mother, guide thy daughter._

She brought her mother, Esme's, image before her.

She laid down the book outside of the circle and using a broom, she swept inside the line.

"Spirits of west, I beckon ye.

Wash away that which is unneeded.

Spirits of south, I beckon ye.

Burn away that which is unwanted.

Spirits of east, I beckon ye.

Blow away that which is undesired.

Spirits of north, I beckon ye.

Remove that which is unworthy."

She walked to the center and tapped the ground four times with the broom. And to herself, she prayed.

_Spirit of God, Spirit of all that is Holy, Spirit of the Mother! Save thy servants from all that seeks harm and end to them. Amen._

She quickly ended the ritual and uncasted the circle, sweeping her broom outwards.

"Spirits of the earth.

Spirits of air.

Spirits of fire.

Spirits of water.

I thank you for your presence in my circle this night.

Stay if you will; go if you must.

I bid thee farewell …"

She stood still for a moment, her broom propped by her side. She gazed up at the moon fixedly, a smile on her lips. The wind brushed her unbound hair, and the hem of her white chemise.

"I know, Moon of the Wind," she whispered. "You are only half of your divine power, but I want you to recognize me, Alice of Brandon, Daughter of Esme. I will come here again when you are at your most potent, _Eesil_."

She gently swayed, letting her body flow with the wind. Her ears picked up her voice in the moonlit night, soft and tender. Her essence drifted around her and in her, and she heard her words.

_Go home._

She opened her eyes.

"What is it, Mother?" she whispered.

_Your brother …_

"My brother?" But she didn't have a brother.

_He needs you._

Alice froze, her hands clutching the front of her dress.

_Danger._

Oh, God.

_Go home. _

* * *

Alice was not really surprised when she saw a lone figure standing at the bottom of the small hill. She quickly darted behind a huge tree and put on her overcoat. When she was properly covered, she stepped out and walked towards him.

"It's dangerous to be out by yourself, Lady Alice. You should have told me you were leaving the castle," he said.

She nodded at him and was silent at the mild reprimand.

"And, I wanted to make sure that the faeries will not love you so much, they will steal you away from me," Jasper added, a teasing smile on his lips.

She smiled back. She pointed her broom at him.

He raised his one arm and winced. She frowned, hurrying up to him.

"Is something amiss? Is your wound paining you still?"

He grinned and in an act of defiance, he slowly circled his arm to show her all was mending well.

"In pain you say? And you a great healer? No, my lady. You have healed me well."

And he bowed. And despite her worries, she blushed at his silliness.

They walked companionably under the light of the moon. Cullen Hall was not far, they could see the lights of the gates.

She quickened her pace. "We must hurry."

He looked at her curiously.

"What, sir?"

"My mother and good sister are back," he said. That seemed to be not what he was about to say, but she let it go.

"That is good news."

Was that why her mother wanted her to return to the hall? Or … did she mean to say _go home_ in Brandon? She bit her lip and worriedly pondered her mother's words. And then ... what about ...? She shook her head. She must have heard wrong.

There was no brother. There was only her and Rosalie.

"You are frowning, my lady."

"I am only wondering how the queen mother was," she lied.

Lady Cullen and Tanya accompanied Queen Renee for awhile, making sure the manor was in order for her entourage. They were gone for five days, Lady Cullen longer than that, and had been staying at Fork's Hall, one of the duke's manor houses. It was half a day's ride away.

"And I have a surprise for you," Jasper said mysteriously.

"Well? What is it! Tell me this instant!"

"Perhaps you may give me a boon first, before I tell you," he said. Alice was sure that if it were day light, she would see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She harrumphed at him. "Don't tease me too much, sir. These are harrowing times."

He let out a breath and slowly nodded.

Alice was immediately sorry that she had removed the teasing smile from his mouth. She was not the only one distressed over the fates of her family, especially of Bella. His father and brothers were right in the thick of war, too.

It has been a while since she had felt lighthearted. She had spent many hours and days tormented by Jasper's fever-wracked body from his wound. It was a difficult journey from Brandon to Kent. But grueling as it was, she had nursed him back to health.

She attempted to bring back the jovial moment.

"Perhaps, sir, I will reward you _after_ you tell me your surprise. And be quick about it!

Jasper laughed and she raised her broom again, threateningly, but there was a smile on her face. Her disquiet momentarily set aside.

"Fine. I will tell you … your sister is home, too."

She allowed herself a little squeal of delight and stepped forward, about to run.

Rosalie has been away for more than a week. She should have arrived sooner but her sister had to go to a place and she wouldn't say where.

"My lady!" he called.

She stopped some distance away and turned to face him.

"Sir?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

She smiled, shook her head, and skipped away.

Even this far away, she could hear his deep sigh.

* * *

The Cullens' long hall was eerily empty. Alice felt a prickle of foreboding travel up her spine.

Jasper's head turned to a sound off to the side. She heard voices beyond the arched hallway leading to the courtyard.

She followed him there.

The Cullen clan was outside. Aunts, nieces, and some uncles and nephews - men and boys who were too old, or too young to join in the war. All were wearing grim faces. Several of the women were in tears, including the duchess.

Lady Cullen was embracing Tanya and she was crying. Both of them were crying.

Jasper strode to where a huge knight was standing still, slightly behind Lady Cullen. She watched the two men turn to the far side, near one of the palisade and silently conferred, heads bowed in serious, hurried discussion.

Jasper's head turned and he looked directly at her across the yard. She fell back a step, her hands in her mouth. She felt the blood drain from her face.

* * *

[Bella]

This was not God's Kingdom. How could it be? There was no pain in Heaven.

She was either dead and in hell, or she was just … in hell.

She heard a dreadful moaning.

Her throat was dry and scratchy. She needed more air. Her parched mouth opened and she let out a gush of air. She quickly inhaled and choked. Coughing and moaning. And with the movement, she felt it. Burning! Her chest, shoulders and arms were on fire!

She tried to lift her arms to protect herself against the flame but she couldn't move. Moaning and groaning. And this time, it was her.

There was a nagging emptiness in her head. There was only the throbbing pain.

And then him.

"Drink, my lady."

She felt coldness on her dry lips. It dripped past the side of her mouth and down her neck. She shivered.

_Edward?_

"It will ease the dryness in your mouth, my lady," he murmured. She felt him pat damp cloth against her mouth, and squeezed little drops of water. She tried to swallow, and coughed, her body jerking.

Oh, God … _The pain!_

"Can you open your eyes?"

She shook her head and instantly froze. She felt vile and nauseous.

"You were with fever for two days, my lady. You have been wounded," he said quietly. "Try to open your eyes now. You need to eat."

"H-hurt," she croaked, eyes still shut.

"I know it hurts, but you need food to grow stronger, to heal."

"P-pain!" she cried.

She wanted to scream louder and to yell at him. _Leave me be. Let me die!_

She heard his long sigh.

"_Queen _Isabella _..."_

She winced. But she cracked one eye open. The look he leveled at her was grim. And then he sighed wearily, running a hand through his already ruffled hair.

"We're n-not dead," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He stared at her for several moments, and to her blurry vision, she saw his lips spread into a slow, relieved smile.

* * *

When the new sun rose in the sky, he forced her to sit up. She bit hard on her bottom lip, refusing to yell in pain. She had mercifully succumbed to blissful sleep after Edward tortured her with his ministrations. Her lips were puffy and she was certain there were teethmarks. She had almost passed out when he was done applying balm on her wound, and changed the dressing.

All her muscles were aching and although the burning in her shoulder has waned a bit, the throbbing was still insistent and constant to cause discomfort and a lot of distress.

He also forced her to eat. The stale bread was abominable and she nearly choked, trying to swallow it. He was ready with water and he forced that down her throat, too.

For someone who had saved her life, he was acting loathsome.

"I can eat by myself, _sir_," she gritted out, her voice still weak.

And while her mood was not to be trifled with, his humor was even more in a bad disposition.

He scowled. "We need to leave soon."

He wrapped her hand around the horrid bread and stood.

"Wait, Edward …"

He paused, looking down at her, impatience etched in his face.

"How … what happened to Emmett? To the men?"

"That is why we need to keep moving. We have to find them."

"Is Emmett …?" She couldn't say the words, her lips were trembling.

Edward turned away and she saw him clench and unclench his fists.

His voice was icy and there was palpable fury in his stance. "My brother is strong and wily. Wherever he is, I know he's alive."

He jerked his head towards the satchel. "You will find what you need in there. I will go get water for your cleansing."

And as he left the hut, she prayed for his brother, young Ollio, and all the men who had defended their queen.

* * *

*****a/n**

**And before you ask, no I am not Wiccan.** I have many books on Celtic myths and legends because these are part of medieval lit.

The strange language is Elvish from Tolkien's books:

Noo men - South

Hroe men - East

Forr men - North

Haar men – West

Eesil - Moon

I kal annoo lee an – "Light hath returned" (I-Kal'anulien)


	17. Ennoble

Twilight was born in a dream** Stephenie Meyer **had on June 2, 2003.

**Chapter15/Ennoble **

[Emmett]

He couldn't bear to watch his mother crying.

"Mother, get a hold of yourself." He winced at the slight harshness in his voice. He didn't know how to comfort her.

What was wrong with him? This woman gave birth to him and she needed his support now.

"Mother …" He tried again. "Your son lives. Believe that, I beg of you."

He nearly killed his horse, but it took him less than four days to travel back home to deliver the news of the queen's ambush and escape.

His father's instructions were to bring the message first to his mother, then escort her to Queen Renee. The duke has decided that it was better for Lady Cullen to be the one to inform Isabella's mother of what had happened, and to offer comfort at once.

On his way home, he was met by one of his father's allies and he was informed that there were unconfirmed reports that de Marseille has captured the queen.

Emmett knew there was only one way that _that_ would likely happen, and that was over Edward's dead body. The conclusion then was that if the Montogomeries have the queen, then his brother - his honorable, great-hearted, Lord-of-Chivalry brother - was most assuredly dead.

His mother knew Edward very well and she has obviously arrived with the same conclusion and hence, the inconsolable woman before him now.

He had to endure several moments of her crying and it was worse now, because Tanya, as broken-hearted as his mother, has joined in.

He turned to Jasper with a pleading, helpless look. But his brother was not looking at them but at someone across the yard. There were several of his cousins and relatives there and he couldn't tell which one his brother was fixedly staring at.

He narrowed his eyes and then he saw her. There was a dark-haired, petite lady who was unrecognizable to him.

He signaled to his brother. He made a gesture that said, "This is more your job" and indicated their mother's heaving shoulders.

Jasper let out a heavy sigh and with one last look at the maiden, he turned to their mother and hugged her tightly to him.

"You raised him to be courteous and respectable, Mother. But Father taught him to be valiant and fearless," Jasper told her firmly.

His mother sniffed and gave them a watery smile. "That is what I am afraid of. I do not want my son to come home a hero … and dead."

At this comment – and his mother could be very blunt – Tanya gasped and fainted.

Emmett darted forward and was just in time to catch her before she fell to the pebbled ground. He hauled her up into his arms and asked his mother and Jasper to follow him inside the hall.

Jasper stayed behind in the long hall and he noticed that he immediately went to the dark-haired maiden he saw outside. She too has entered the hall.

He quickly took the stone steps leading to Edward's chambers, his mother followed.

He laid his good sister on the bed, noting that she has become thinner in her husband's absence. He waited for his mother outside of the room.

He felt contrite that in all the drama outside, they forgot about Tanya. She was Edward's wife after all, and was as devastated as their mother on hearing of her husband's possible murder.

Emmett heaved a deep sigh. They would have to ride out soon. He wasn't looking forward to Queen Renee's reaction.

* * *

[Bella]

She was weak, very weak. She wasn't certain, but she might have passed out when Edward, despite his gentleness, carried her to his horse. The next thing she was aware of was his warm and solid chest, and she could hear his strong heartbeats. She vaguely recalled his apology, of the way she must ride flushed against him.

He carefully arranged her cloak around her and clicked his horse forward.

There was silence. A long silence that was emphasized more by the equally silent forest.

She was still groggy. She didn't think she could breathe properly, much less initiate a conversation, when her whole attention was focused on her throbbing shoulder.

"Lean your head against me, my lady," he said softly.

Bella straightened her spine and groaned she couldn't help it. The sudden movement caused her to pull aching muscles. She had been sitting a bit stiffly and stubbornly fighting the urge to lay her head on his chest.

Slowly, she allowed her body to relax against him. She has to or she would be in worse pain than she already was.

She heard him expel a breath, sensed his brief hesitation, then his free arm wound around her waist and he pulled her body closer to him. He adjusted her into a more comfortable position.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

The silence resumed.

She felt it, the familiar gentle shiver inside her skin that she has grown accustomed to experiencing whenever she was in his presence. Letting out another deep sigh, she burrowed deeper, her cheek resting against the smooth fabric of his tunic.

* * *

[Edward]

She was asleep.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He kept the horse's pace steady, avoiding bumps and protruding roots of giant trees. They were traveling alternately on beaten paths and bushy trails, and generally avoiding the common, although easier, roads.

Edward was taking the queen to Saint-Kirk. It was the only safe place up north that the Cullens were familiar with.

He was certain that his father would accurately guess his destination. There was another secluded town on the way, but the old castle would be the better choice. He only hoped his father would realize it sooner.

The queen made a small moaning sound and he quickly looked at her. Her arms which were bent at the elbows were tucked in between them. She released a gush of air and shifted suddenly, her arms moving around his chest inside his cloak.

His jaw clamped together like a vise and he kneed the horse to a stop. He watched her sleeping, and tried to ignore how her softness felt to him, this close.

It ate at him, this forbidden emotions going through his mind and body. Their lives were set on different paths and this could never be. Still, even knowing the futility of it all, it left a burning, hungry sensation deep in his heart and inside his bones.

The absence of the horse's movement seemed to wake her up.

He held his breath.

Her own breath seemed to stop and he knew she was suddenly aware where her arms were. She quickly dropped her arms and straightened up. She bit her lower lip but she couldn't quite stop her sound of anguish.

"Don't move," he said quietly.

Her beautiful brown eyes gazed up at him. Her eyes were glassy and she looked as if she was about to cry.

"We will rest soon, my lady," he assured her. "My guess is we will reach a small village before nightfall." The paths they were following indicated to him that the trail was leading to a group of settlers. Besides horses and men on foot, there were also wheel tracks, signs there was a village nearby.

She nodded but didn't say a word. Her cheeks were flushed with a becoming pink color. He hoped she was not still nursing a fever. She did feel very warm to him.

"Can you help me?" she whispered.

He didn't think it was possible, but her face turned an even deeper pink. She bit her bottom lip.

At that moment, she looked very much like the young woman that she was. One that was completely alone with a man she didn't really know. And he silently cursed himself. Could it be that she was afraid of him? She was completely dependent on him until she was fully healed.

"Help you with what, my lady?"

"I … I can't move. Could you turn me around so I am facing the front?"

He placed his hands on her waist and carefully turned her around. She was now riding astride the horse. He was about to help her arrange her skirts and cloak around her more comfortably when he hesitated.

She seemed to sense his dilemma. She cleared her throat and made a gesture of consent. He helped her straighten her clothing, carefully avoiding touching any part of her.

* * *

Before nightfall, they entered not a small village, but a hamlet. He counted about four roofs.

He halted the horse just outside of the cluster of huts.

"My lady, it is best that we pose as husband and wife." He tensed, expecting her protests. She didn't make any sound, so he continued. "We'll stay the night here in someone's loft or barn. I have to stay close to you."

She nodded. He urged the horse forward.

People were turning to watch their silent approach to what looked like the main street of the hamlet.

Edward instantly felt his protective instincts surround the queen. He didn't appreciate how some of the men were looking at Isabella.

He chose to stop near the door of the biggest hut, correctly guessing that whoever lived there would have some influence with his suspicious neighbors. After checking that the queen would not fall off the horse, he dismounted. An old woman was standing near the hut's doorway.

"Good day, madame. My name is Anthony and this is my wife."

"Goodness, sir! Wot's tae yer lady?" the old woman exclaimed. He stiffened.

The words were meant to convey concern but he didn't trust her, her eyes were shifty and she was inspecting Isabella's elegant cloak as if she planned to steal it. She eyed his horse too, and if she knew horses, she would recognize the big destrier as a war horse.

No, he thought, eyes narrowing. He did not trust this old woman, at all.

"Alas, good woman, we were accosted by armed vagrants and we lost our belongings and carriage," he said, deciding to instill a haughty tone to his voice to remind this woman that he was of noble birth. Perhaps the thought that he had men somewhere would intimidate them not to do anything stupid.

"Och, lawlessness in dae land, sir! Spreads fast like flesh-eatin' maggots inside dae dead 'ol king."

He was looking up at Isabella to check on her, and at the woman's words, her face paled and her eyes blazed. His hand gripped her foot as a warning to stay quiet.

"Is there a place here we can stay the night, madame? As you can see, my poor wife needs to rest soon and I must tend to her," he said, hoping to end the old woman's tirades.

She turned fake, weepy eyes to him. "Kind sir, we are gud people 'ere but these are 'ard tymes. Is there payment, sir, fer me charity n' compassion?"

Edward restrained himself from blurting out that if it was charity and compassion offered, why were they being charged for it?

"You will be compensated for your generosity, madame," he said, hiding his distaste.

The old crone cackled, and then shouted for someone. A ragged-clothed boy suddenly appeared and after a quick bark of instructions, the boy led us to a barn. It was small and there were goats, chickens and doubtless rats and other vermin as their companions for the night.

* * *

[Bella]

The old woman brought bread, some mead, and hot water. She also brought blankets which Edward laid down on top of the bed straws he made.

She lingered, eyeing Bella's clothes and her hair but Edward was rather abrupt with the woman and she left, grumbling.

He led the horse inside the barn amid the old woman's protests. But he was determined and when Edward wanted something, he apparently gets it. The horse was sleeping in the barn with them.

The boy had stoked the small oven fire to keep the occupants warm. He told them that the barn was where the old woman's grandsons sometimes sleep, but that they were not home this night.

When they were finally alone, Edward allowed her some time to use the hot water to cleanse herself. Afterwards, he cleaned her wound, applied new balm and changed her bandage.

She reached for the bread but he shook his head. He took the bread and threw it aside.

"We'll eat our own food," he said tersely.

"We're not staying here then?"

"Just for tonight, my lady. We leave soon as it is proper light outside."

She chewed slowly. She noticed that Edward wasn't eating.

"You're not hungry?"

"Not right now."

"What's wrong?"

He sighed. "Nothing, my lady. Forgive me if I am worrying you." He reached for one of the apples.

Bella eyed the only straw makeshift bed. She gulped. Where would he sleep?

She had finished eating and was just sitting there, silent.

Finally, Edward said, "let me help you settle down, my lady."

"Where would you sleep?" she blurted out.

"Where I can see you and the horse," he said. He helped her lie down on the straw-made bed.

Her brow knit with apprehension.

"Are you expecting thieves to come during the night?"

"If they do, they will die," he said briskly and matter-of-factly.

"You are scaring me, Edward."

* * *

She couldn't sleep.

She turned her head and Edward was watching her. He was sitting where he could see the barn door but he would be hidden to anyone who would enter.

"Are you guarding me all night?"

He tiredly rubbed his face and stubbly jaw, and slowly nodded.

She sighed. This would not do.

"Edward, you told me horses are the best night guards. Your horse will warn us if there are intruders. You _must_ sleep."

"I can't do that, my lady."

It was an effort but she struggled to sit up. He quickly came to her and helped her get to a more comfortable position. He stood up and sat back down at his sentinel post.

"How is your shoulder?" he asked.

"It's … It's healing, thank you." Her shoulder _was_ mending and the pain has subsided, for now. "Where are we going, Edward? I mean, tomorrow."

"An old castle up north. We'll wait for my father there."

She felt her face drain of color when she heard "north". Could she travel that far? In her condition?

He seemed to know what she was thinking.

"We will travel slowly, my lady, and rests often."

"How about Argyll? And, Montgomerie?"

"I will not lie to you. They are on our trail and they will not stop until they find us."

Bella closed her eyes. She felt sobs rising from her chest. She tried to breathed slow and to calm herself.

He would never be safe as long as he was with me, she thought, pained. She was causing him grief and she has taken him away from his wife and son.

She swallowed convulsively and barely managed to say, "I apologize to you and your family."

His eyes widened in amazement. "Don't apologize, my lady. You are queen. We swore allegiance to you."

"But I am causing so much misery and death," she whispered.

He didn't say anything in reply, so she looked up. His eyes on her were smoldering. He slowly stood up, still staring at her.

Her eyes cast down to her lap, and the strangest thing happened.

Edward knelt before her, as knights do before their liege when pledging their loyalty.

"I have told you this before, my lady. I am here because this is where I need to be."

"Because you are doing your duty."

"Because I choose to serve you."

Bella wanted badly to ask if he even liked her, if dying for her was worth it. And foolishly, shamelessly, she cried.

She cried for what could have been, if she was just a woman and he was just a man. She cried for who she could have been to him if these were different times, if they were different people.

She cried and didn't stop, and he still paid homage, bearing witness to her weakness.

* * *

She woke up to see Edward in battle stance, the tip of his broadsword still lowered to the ground, but ready to cut the three men in front of him. She had seen him in action. He could decapitate all of them in one blow.

He heard her movements.

"Stay where you are, wife," he hissed.

She froze.

"Och, sir, we were jist curious as tae 'or grannie's gists," said the tallest one.

"'N such foine horsie flesh, Ah see," said the smallest.

The third man didn't speak, but she didn't like the way he was staring at her. So did Edward.

"I seek no foe," he said, his tone negating his words, which was dripping with quiet menace. "Give us a moment to prepare and we will be out of here."

"Ahm that sorrree, sir, tae delay ye but 'or grannie sent us 'ere tae receive payment fer 'er graciousness," sneered the second man.

The first man, the tallest one, made a move towards the horse, and Edward moved so fast he was a blur.

Two men were on the ground. One has eyes bulging and he made a gurgling sound against Edward's foot pressing in his throat. The other one was also flat on his back, the broadsword cutting skin under his chin. There was blood running down his neck.

She eyed the last man standing, frozen near the door.

"Wife, get on the horse," Edward said quietly.

_Oh, God._ Could she do it?

There was movement near one of the stalls and she saw the boy who helped them last night.

Edward saw him too. "You, boy! Help my wife! Now!"

Somehow, with a lot of grunting and pain, she was on top of the horse. Edward hauled one of the men on the ground and using his body as shield, he backed away. He pushed the man roughly to the side, and he quickly climbed on top of the horse behind her. The man made a desperate grab for his leg but he kicked him viciously in the face. And, quick as a light, they galloped away.

He was swinging his broadsword over his head and yelling his bloodcurdling battle cry – discouraging the few rakish-looking men who might be thinking pursuit - as the horse sprinted across the street and out of the hamlet.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading and for the alerts and adding this story to your favorite list.


	18. Owned by thee

**Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight. She thinks Robert Pattinson is perfect as Edward Cullen. We all agree, right?

**Chapter16/Owned by thee**

[One of Montgomerie's minions]

He stared at her, squinting in the near darkness.

He had been waiting for her in a secluded part of the castle grounds for hours.

Eyeing her slow approach, he silently praised Lord Montgomerie's brilliance. To employ this woman – this beautiful noble woman – as his spy was cleverly.

When she was in front of him, her hooded head bowed, he growled - not because he was upset, but because he wanted to see her flinch.

"You kept me waiting, my lady. I trust what you have for my master is worth it."

Silence. He has no more time for this.

"Emmett Cullen has returned. What message he brings?" he said.

"Is it true that de Marseille has captured the queen?" she whispered, daring to ignore his question.

He laughed silently. "If de Marseille has the queen, then Montgomerie has the queen. And my lord does not have the queen. Now, what news you have?"

"These are only lies spread by de Marseille?" the damned woman persisted.

Who was the spy here? She was interrogating him when he should be the one with the questions, he thought angrily.

"The queen has not been captured!" he hissed. "Enough of this, my lady, tell me Kent's next move."

"Sir Emmett has not told his mother yet."

He snorted impatiently.

"He … he leaves on the morrow with Lady Cullen to … to go to the queen mother," she volunteered hesitantly.

"My master will not be happy with you, my lady." She whimpered. "Where does Kent suspect his son is heading?"

"N-north," she mumbled.

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"You must go with Lady Cullen to Forks Hall." He quickly walked to the small opening of the old chapel's ruins. "Meet me here two days after your return. And, my lady," he paused, injecting menace to his tone. "My master will want more _or _…" He left the threat unspoken.

* * *

[Emmett]

His brother was smitten. He shook his head. He was not surprised since Jasper was always fond of the ladies.

"You're drooling."

Jasper closed his mouth at once. He had been staring at the tiny maiden again.

Emmett sighed, bringing the meeting to order. "As per Father's instructions, you are to follow us to Forks Hall on the morrow. I leave you with mother, you take her back here, and I go on to find Edward and the queen."

"I am strong enough. I go with you."

"If it were up to me, you will join us," he said with regret. "You are needed here. One of us should stay here."

"Besides," he continued. "Forks Hall is your inheritance. You are the host, not Father."

His brother – as if he couldn't help himself, was looking at Lady Alice again.

"Why don't you go to your heart's desire and we'll meet in the long hall later?" he offered magnanimously.

His brother almost ran across the hall. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"What or _who_ has you amused, sir?"

Emmett was startled. He turned quickly around and gasped. Before him, like a burst of sunshine, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen!

He stared helplessly, his skin was heating. Who was this glorious creature?

If he was Edward or Jasper, he would have bowed low, maybe kiss her dainty hand, like those dandy and vapid court lords. But he was Emmett and therefore, by nature, an oaf when it came to women.

"It was just my brother," he shrugged. "May I have the pleasure of your name, my lady?"

"Rosalie of Brandon, Sir Emmett." She curtsied. He flushed, pleased that she knew who he was.

"What can I do for you, Lady Rosalie? And sister to Lady Alice? I presume?" At her nod, he finally made himself bow, returning the courtesy.

"I seek your kindness, sir. I wish to accompany your mother, Lady Cullen, to Forks Hall. I miss the queen mother," she said softly.

He frowned. He was already escorting two women tomorrow – his mother and Tanya. And while he knew that the Brandons were the queen's cousins, he didn't think it wise to bring either one of them to Queen Renee. Besides, this was not in his father's plans.

Lady Rosalie smiled prettily at him. And before he realized what he was doing, he was nodding his head in assent.

* * *

[Alice]

They both stopped talking.

The brothers were in an isolated corner in the long hall. She had been watching them, intent on their whispering. She cleared her throat and with seeming confidence she did not feel, she sat on the small bench facing the men.

Sir Emmett emitted a long sigh of annoyance.

She turned to Jasper who she knew was more welcoming of her presence.

"Forgive me for this interruption, sirs, but … I … I know where the queen is."

The big knight raised a brow and she could see that while he was still irate, he was controlling his features to remain bland, for her sake.

"My lady, this matter should not be treated lightly, or frivolously. The queen's and my brother's lives are at stake." He dismissed her, his manner still managing to be polite, and turned back to his brother.

Jasper was looking at her, ignoring his brother's impatient expression.

"Where are they?" he said quietly.

"For God's sake, Jasper!" his brother muttered.

Jasper held up his hand in a shushing gesture, and sat down beside her on the bench. "I ask you with respect, my lady. Tell us what you know?"

Alice sat very still and stared forward, recalling her vision that morning. She told them what she saw.

Bella was badly hurt but she was on the mend.

She saw her riding a black horse, and Edward walking slowly, leading the big beast.

They were entering a small but thriving village. She heard Edward inquiring for the village lord. She saw a peasant pointing to a stone house near the church, which was located at the center of the village square.

She told them, her voice firm, that for the moment they were safe.

Alice looked up to see that the big knight was frowning, scratching his chin absently. Then he turned to her, his eyes speculative. She could almost hear him thinking, absorbing what she just told them. Perhaps a little scared even, suddenly realizing that there was a _witch_ in their midst.

"We are grateful for your … help, my lady," he said at last, again dismissively.

She sighed. She would be patient with him and would continue to offer her help.

She stood up, curtsying. With a smile at Jasper, she walked slowly away.

The visions were coming now and as she continued to embrace her mother's craft, she prayed that she would be strong enough to save Bella, and to save her family.

* * *

[Edward]

He felt a light tug on his arm and he looked down. The little boy they met by the river, the same boy who was enamored by the queen the moment he laid eyes on her, was pleading with him.

"Sir, me 'ome's ower thair. Ah shud bring yer lady, fur restin'?"

He had been appealing his case all the way from the riverside to the village. He wanted to attend his "wife" and to be her temporary servant.

The poor little boy was quite in love with Isabella. He smiled sympathetically at him. He knew exactly what he feels, being that he was suffering the same besotted condition.

"So kind of you, little man, but she must stay with me. A man never leaves his lady." He tried to smile and make his tone gentle, impatient though he was.

They have arrived at the house of the peasants' chief. He thanked the helpful villein who led the way there and knocked on the door. It was opened immediately and he suspected that the man has noted their approach from his window.

"Och, welcome tae ye, gud sir!" And by his jolly tone, Edward surmised that the village was used to passing strangers like them and have had goodwill from most, he was certain, otherwise they wouldn't be this neighborly.

He was invited inside for the mid-day meal. He helped the queen to dismount, very gentle and careful about it. He saw her grimace of pain.

"You are very brave, my lady," he whispered close to her ear. He assured her that they would rest soon. She nodded.

He gently wiped the sweat from her brow. He sat her down in one of the stools and quietly asked their host for cider. He poured mead in two cups instead of cider - a sign of good welcome - and offered it to them both.

Edward held the cup to Isabella's mouth, helping her drink it slowly. The long ride has exhausted her. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow. Her fever, thank Mother Mary, has not returned.

He saw that the village chief, whose name was Egbert, was looking on politely albeit very curiously at them. He related to him the same story he told that felonious old hag.

The man emitted a sympathetic sound.

"My wife needs a good bath, sir, and fresh cloths for her wound," he said. He looked down at Isabella and without any more internal debate, he sat close to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, supporting her. She has her eyes closed and as soon as he had his arm around her, she leaned her head against him. She let out a deep sigh.

Their host called to someone and a young woman entered the room, followed by an older one, probably her mother.

"Me gud wuman, sir, Dotty. She's tae serve yer wife," said Egbert, "n me dawter, Rowyna."

Edward acknowledged them gratefully and then helped the queen rise to her feet. She wobbled and he swung her up in his arms. He followed the women out to a small room attached to the barn shed.

"You will be safe here," he told her quietly. He sat her down on a bench and was about to straighten up when she clutched at his sleeve.

"Edward," she said faintly. "Are these good people?"

He had the sudden urge to lean down and kiss her on her forehead. She looked uncertain and was gazing up at him as if he had all the answers in the world. He crouched in front of her, looking directly into her eyes.

"Yes, my lady. They will not hurt you."

She nodded and smiled tiredly.

* * *

He stood outside of the barn. He was not surprised to find the little boy there, also standing guard.

"What's your name, laddie?"

"Howie, sir!"

He asked the little boy about the village and its occupants. Edward was particularly curious about the lord of the manor. He hoped that whoever he was, he was not too politically active. The last thing he needed was someone recognizing the queen.

He looked around the village green. The huts were clean and the animal pens were full of healthy beasts. The church in the center of the village square was made of stone. The priest, the little boy said, was too old to mingle with the villagers now and was usually closeted inside the church. Edward made a note to himself to visit the priest later.

He estimated that there were about four dozens of villagers here, including women and children. They were friendly, as far as he could tell, which meant they were prosperous and quite independent. He could see plowed fields and pastures.

Egbert would take him to the lord of the manor tomorrow.

Beyond the trees, he narrowed his eyes at the roof of the manor house.

* * *

[Bella]

"Do I have a name? Or am I just 'wife' the entire time?" She lifted her eyebrow at him.

Not that I don't love hearing _wife_ coming out of your lips, she thought with a small smile.

His mouth quirked, but it was not quite a smile. He bowed. "Your name is yours to give, my lady."

They were inside the inn, waiting for the owner's word that their lodging was ready. She felt sufficiently rested after her bath and meal earlier. Dotty also changed her bandage, saying Edward was a good healer. The wound had closed, she said, nodding approvingly at the scabs.

It turned out that Egbert's brother was an inn keeper and thank be to the Heavens there was, indeed, a small inn in the village. Edward said that only big towns boast of inns for the weary travelers.

Granted the inn was meager but it was rest after a long, very long day.

The inn was attached to Egbert's stone house and it has a second storey. They were ushered inside by the owner and asked to sit down on one of the tables while lodging was prepared. Edward has decided that they could stay here until she was stronger and perhaps could ride her own horse.

Egbert had accompanied them and so did the little boy.

Howie was the one who guided them to his village and for that, Bella was close to adoring him. He never leaves her side. She was thinking of bringing him to the castle one day and appointed him her page, then squire, and when he was older, a knight. _If_ she was still queen, she thought, frowning.

Egbert lured the little boy to the kitchen for some refreshments, leaving them temporarily by themselves.

"What will it be, my lady?" said Edward. "What do I call you?"

There was only one name that she wanted him to call her.

"Bella."

"Bella?" This time he didn't hide his smirk. "Not much of a disguise, isn't?"

"Well, _Anthony_, that is the name I prefer."

"Bella," he said softly, her name passing through his lips as if he was uttering a heartfelt prayer. She blushed and looked away.

* * *

As soon as the inn keeper called to them that their room was ready, Bella's blush grew.

He offered to carry her again - for the 10th time - but she shook her head, assuring him that she could walk.

She followed Edward up the narrow flight of stairs, her heart hammering.

_Oh, dear God. _

She was about to share a room with her _husband_.

* * *

[Argyll]

By mid-day, they had found the abandoned hut.

James inspected the debris left by his quarry. He knew it was them. He sniffed at the dried, dirty cloth and he smelled blood.

_Isabella._

His slow smile was threatening.

* * *

*****a/n**

"Owned by thee" - from Emily Dickinson's poem (forgot the title, but it was about a husband and his wife) "Twas the Glory of God, let it be. Remembered ... I was owned by thee."


	19. Greeneyed monster

Still **Stephenie Meyer's **

**Chapter17/Green-eyed monster**

[Bella]

There was only one narrow cot in the small room.

Edward moved aside to let her inside first. She could feel him standing behind her. He left the door open and the sounds of merriment downstairs invaded the small, silent room. The inn was the only food and drink establishment in the village, which accounted for the full house below.

"Do I call Dotty, my lady, to help you settle for the night?"

She jumped a little, wincing. She was about to say no, she would be fine but of a sudden, she was stricken by shyness and desperately wanted another female in the room with her.

This is silly, Bella! She berated herself. We have already shared a barn and this should be no different, she thought.

But then this was a smaller, more intimate room and there was … a bed. And his tall, big frame has made the room tinier.

She tried to calm her breathing and to paste a smile on her face. She slowly turned around.

Edward was closer to her than she realized. She almost bumped her forehead on his chest.

He quickly stepped aside and in the same motion, he closed door. He moved to the center of the room, which was not much distance since he was just four feet away from her. She could feel her heart beating faster.

"My lady, I …" He hesitated. She stared at his averted profile. His face was flushed with evident akwardness and she mirrored his discomfort. "I will stay here for awhile for appearances' sake, but soon as you are ready to retire, I will be outside by the door." He finally looked up at her. "All night."

She nodded and silently encouraging herself to move her frozen feet, she sat on the small cot. It was a far, far, very far cry from her canopied featherbed in the castle. Her mother herself embroidered the hangings on her four-poster bed and the soft linen covers.

This bed at least has a mattress, a coverlet, a blanket and a small pillow. She was grateful for it though, it was an improvement from the makeshift straw mattress she had been sleeping on these past weeks and weeks.

Edward was still standing looking at anywhere but at her. She cleared her throat.

"Would you sit by me, Edward?"

He never seemed to let himself forget who she was, for he bowed and slowly approached. He sat stiffly at the end of the cot.

"Is your shoulder paining you still?" he asked solicitously after a strained silence.

She blushed, remembering all the times she had to lean on him, to rely on his warm strength and support. She relived every gentle touch of assistance he ever gave her. She had been so weak and he was always so strong.

"Not so much now," she murmured.

They were both still and silent again for several moments. She could hear her own breathing and his. She saw him open his mouth, then close it again. He took a deep breath and she braced herself.

"I owe you my life, your grace," he said quietly. His tone had gone very formal.

Bella sat up straighter, biting her lip to stop a groan when she pulled on her bandage.

Oh, God.

_He knew! _

Oh, sweet Mother Mary. He knows I love him! She silently wailed, panicking.

She felt his gaze on her but she was frozen.

"The arrow was meant for me," he said.

She closed her eyes. Her breathing was becoming erratic.

"No, the arrow was for me. All of them were, Edward, every one of those arrows were for me." She was desperate to convince him what her actions meant that fateful night, which was anything but the truth. "Every death on that field was my fault."

He grimaced. "You can't always blame everything on your pretty head, my lady." Then he coughed, obviously embarrassed at his slip.

"Isn't that what being queen is all about? Taking responsibility of all the lives in my kingdom?" she whispered.

She could feel her blush returning.

He thinks I am pretty? She thought, momentarily sidetracked. What did he mean by that comment? Or was he just cushioning his chastisement with a little flattery? It was what court lords usually indulge in they confuse everything with exaggerated talk until all lies become the truth.

"You still saved my life, my lady. I will not forget that."

She unthinkingly shrugged one shoulder and this time, she couldn't restrain a groan.

He reached a hand towards her then stopped.

"May I?" he asked.

She wasn't sure what he was asking for but she nodded.

Edward slid closer to her and slowly, gently, he adjusted the strap. Her careless shrug has apparently loosened the sling. When she started feeling lightheaded, she realized she had stopped breathing. His closeness was going to be the death of me, she thought. Unable to control herself, she inhaled his scent, his warmth luring her to get closer.

"Thank you," she murmured, leaning away. She shivered.

"Cold?" He moved back and fetched her clean blanket and covered her shoulders with it.

"How long should we stay here, do you think?" she asked.

He stood and walked to the small window. He opened it a little and peered out. "For as long as a sennight," he said then he explained further. "My father will know you have been wounded. He will expect us to travel slowly and take the longer route to Saint-Kirk."

Since his back was turned to her, she gave herself the luxury of watching him. Her mind went back to his acknowledgment of her actions in Balan Pass. She didn't think he noticed what she had done.

When she saw the arrow targeted straight at him, she didn't think. There was no conscious decision to hurl her body at him, to shield him. She just did, it was pure instinct.

But did he suspect why?

She chewed worriedly on her bottom lip.

Did he accept her reason why she blocked that arrow?

Then a terrible thought assailed her.

Edward was an appealing man. He was so much more than valiant and he was beyond handsome. He was … he was … _Edward_.

There were hundreds of women fawning over him. She knew that very well. She had witnessed it countless of times. She also memorized every noble lady's name which dared smile at him, or touch his arm to attract his attention. She didn't know what she would do with this list of names, but she liked to fantasize some form of punishment for these wanton women, preferably beheading, just because they looked at Edward in a suggestive way.

Edward was used to admiration, both from men and women.

Could it be that he had seen the same favor from her? And he was only ignoring her adoration in deference to her position?

This was worse than my unrequited love, she thought. To be likened with all those infatuated women and then cast aside.

Absurdly, Bella was hoping he would at least treat her differently because … well, because she was the queen.

And I just don't _love_ anybody! I love _you_! She thought, and she glared at his back.

She sighed, feeling deflated. She closed her eyes again.

Perhaps all this running, her worry over her mother and sister, her guilt over the death of so many men in defense of her name, was inspiring all these inane thinking.

No, he couldn't have known, she assured herself.

My secret is safe, she thought.

* * *

It was morning and Edward was preparing to visit the lord of the manor.

"I know you are still weak, my lady," he said apologetically. "But I cannot leave you by yourself here. I must take you with me."

She was actually pleased that he wasn't leaving her behind in the inn. She told him so. When Dotty arrived to help her dress, he left to wait for her outside.

* * *

[Edward]

They followed Egbert slowly up the dirt path to the manor.

The queen was sitting on a cart, a short work horse pulling it. There were baskets of fruits and vegetables and sacks of oats inside the cart too, produce that the villagers were delivering to their fief lord, partly in payment for some past liens.

He had spent the morning walk unobtrusively interviewing Egbert about his master, whose name was Peter Wallington, and his fief and the village was called Burin.

Edward was fairly certain that there was no prominent noble house with the surname of Wallington, and he allowed himself to relax.

As they neared the manor, his trepidation that the queen would be recognized eased some more.

The stone house was small compared to manors in bigger towns, and it was definitely smaller than Cullen Hall, which was a castle by its sheer size, both the hall and the grounds.

Wallington himself opened the door, doubtless having heard of his interesting visitors.

Edward knew the men in the village had taken note of his destrier - obviously a war horse - and the broadsword that he carried. His whole demeanor screamed knight and warrior.

Looking at Wallington now, he knew this man was aware that he was no ordinary baron.

The lord of the manor offered them an indefinite stay in his house. His only daughter was getting married in two days, he said, and he would welcome more guests to celebrate this blessed union.

As graciously as he could, Edward declined his invitation since he didn't want to be exposed to too many visitors for this wedding. The inn in the village was the safest place, for now.

Another reason why he turned down the offer was because Peter Wallington, a widower just the past year, was looking very engrossly at Isabella.

Edward didn't say anything, or do anything about it at first, for after all, he had already declared Isabella as his wife.

They were at his table, invited to break the fast with him. He reached for a piece of cheese off the pewter plate on the table. He watched their host while he ate, and when he had washed it down with honey wine, he seemed more alert, and more appreciative of the queen.

Edward stiffened, the hair at the back of his neck bristling. He decided to make his move.

The queen was sitting quietly beside him. She was lazily pulverizing bread, which he had cut up for her. He poured mead in her cup to attract her eye. Then he made sure Wallington was looking at them.

He leaned down in a pretense of nuzzling the side of her neck. He whispered in her ear, "do not act surprised. Trust me."

She blinked once and she stayed still.

"You've a very lovely wife, sir," Wallington complimented.

Edward smiled. He placed the tip of his finger under the queen's chin and lifted her face towards him. "That I do, my good man," he agreed, his tone low.

He slowly traced the edge of her smooth jaw with his finger. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and he wanted to bite that pouty lip himself. His tongue darted out to lick his own bottom lip. He breathed in her unique, feminine scent, felt it invade all his senses.

He made the mistake of looking into her glorious brown eyes and he was lost. She looked up at him in all innocence, her lips slightly parted. She was beautiful, utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached his other hand to her face. His fingers trailed lightly over her cheek. His breath hitched, his lips poised above hers.

Wallington let out a loud guffaw and the spell was broken.

"Here's to beautiful women and most especially, to your dear wife," said the blasted man. He raised his cup and inclined his head at Isabella, who was now looking lovelier with her pink-flushed cheeks.

Edward gritted his teeth and gently let go of her chin. His jaw clenched hard.

_What the hell are you doing, Cullen!_

It was an instinctive reaction. She was his wife, for God's sake! And another man was openly lusting after her!

_But she was only your pretend wife, you idiot! _His unforgiving mind reminded him.

He stared at the queen for a moment. She was looking down at the table, still blushing furiously.

He slumped forward suddenly, smashing his hands against his knees under the table.

"A good day to you, sir, we must away now." He stood and reached down, gently wrapping his hand around her uninjured arm.

When she was standing up, he slid an arm around her waist and shot Wallington a warning smile.

_Mine_, sirrah.

* * *

[Argyll]

He rode straight for two days until he arrived at his temporary destination. He was planning to roost in a small manor that was owned by his vassal.

He needed to see his witch. It was the only reason why he left his men to continue their hunt for the queen.

The fief lord welcomed him with wine and women, but he was in no mood and he ignored the wenches.

He sat and waited for Victoria.

He had summoned her days ago and she was arriving any minute now. Scouts were dispatched to monitor her troupe.

The woman was traveling with the nomad entertainers and tinkers - the gypsies. No doubt exchanging the evil eye, he snorted.

For the moment, he was alone in the small hall. His vassal was too scared of him to keep him company.

"Tell me, witch," he told the silent room. "Is our Isabella harboring fatal love for that _bastrich_?"

He gulped his wine in one swallow and threw the cup against the brick wall.

He saw her that moonless night, the queen. _My beautiful, young queen_.

She was hiding behind a big rock. The sight of her made his whole body grow hard, and the thought that he was about to take her life, was an aphrodisiac.

And as we watched her, he followed the direction of her gaze and she was looking at that bastard, Edward Cullen.

In a moment of pure insightfulness, he swung the red arrow in Edward's direct path and the expansive movement caught the queen's attention. He raised the arrow about to release the notch, when Isabella ran towards the bastard as he knew she would, thereby giving him a clearer shot at her.

He laughed. His arrow had found its intended target.

But now that he knew she was still alive, he was totally sanguine about it all.

Perhaps there was no need to kill her. There was more than one way to get the throne and it didn't necessarily entail her demise.

And he began to form a new plan.

* * *

[Victoria]

She gritted her teeth for she knew. She knew what he was asking her was true.

"Unnecessarily careless of the queen, don't you think?" she hissed.

"The queen can have any man she wants," her husband slurred, bedeviling her.

_No!_ Over her _dead_ body!

She remained silent, fuming, her hands fisting into claws.

Her husband was watching her, for he knew too. He was very well aware – as was the whole damned kingdom - to which her heart belonged to and it wasn't him.

"The queen and Kent's heir," he purred. "Can you imagine them together, my duchess?"

"That would never be!" she yelled.

Her heart, broken so many times by the same man, seemed to shatter to pieces. Again!

She sneered at him. "You don't know Edward. He would never besmirch his honor or the reputation of his duchy by such unfaithful dalliances!"

She paced the room, her hands raking at her unbound hair.

She spat at him, her eyes blazing with hatred. "Your family might have gained power through betrayal and corruption." She breathed deep, her voice changing to a worshipful tone. "But Edward is decent."

James barked his stupid laughter, mocking her. She gripped her hands harder.

"Edward is decent!" she repeated fiercely. "And a whoreson like _you_ would _never_ understand that!"

He stood up then and quickly grabbed her arm. She cried out in pain.

Oh, yes!

She smiled provocatively at him, for her pain was her pleasure, too. He saw it. He knew her well. He released her arm and roughly pushed her aside.

Tauntingly, he said, "Isabella is a beautiful and powerful woman, witch. Your _Edward_ wouldn't be able to resist her."

And she goaded him in return, pushing his limit. "More beautiful than your Esme?"

She saw it coming and didn't flinch. His brute arm swung forcefully and in a blink, she was thrown against the wall and fell slumped on the floor, a trickle of blood seeping out of her mouth.

* * *

*****a/n**

"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock …" – from Shakespeare's Othello.


	20. Village life

**Stephenie Meyer's **Twilight

**Chapter18/Village life**

[Bella]

Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling. She cupped her cheek and she felt warm, and she knew her face was splashed with pink.

Oh, Mother Mary! He was going to kiss her!

Was he?

She was so confused, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe properly.

Edward's arm was still around her waist and instead of leading her to where Egbert and the cart were, which was immediately outside of the stone house, he walked behind the manor towards a small fenced, roofed garden.

As soon as they entered the enclosed greenery, he dropped his arm and moved away from her. His back was to her, and she watched him plunged his hand in his hair, roughing his bronze locks.

Bella bit her lower lip nervously. He looked agitated. She heard him exhale a deep sigh and she stiffened.

He turned slowly to her. His face was flushed.

"My lady …" He began and stopped. He looked down at his clenched fists. "I … that is, what I want to say is - forgive me for my actions. It was disrespectful of me."

Her mouth fell open. He regretted it? She felt tears in her eyes and she rapidly blinked them away.

Bella desperately wanted to go to him and to assure him that she wasn't offended. She didn't consider what happened discourteous, at all. In fact she wasn't sure what she would do if he did actually kiss her but disrespected, she wouldn't be. Her face flamed some more at that thought.

_Get a hold of yourself! _She told herself firmly_._ _I am queen, I am queen, _she chanted.

"Edward," she said slowly, trying to calm her hammering heart. "It's … It's nothing. We were acting as husband and w-wife." She grimaced at her stammer.

He looked up suddenly at her, his eyes were blazing emerald fire, searing her to her very bones. He took a step towards her and she stumbled back, she couldn't help it. She clutched the front of her borrowed homespun dress.

His eyes widened at her retreat and he froze. "My lady, I will not hurt you."

"No! It's not that it's - you surprised me. I didn't mean to -" She helplessly dropped her gaze and just stood there. What could she say? That she really wanted him to kiss her? And that the pain of his rejection was one of the cruelest things anyone could do to her?

"My lady, I beseech your pardon -"

"Bella," she blurted out, interrupting him.

Edward stood still now. He was waiting patiently for her to look up and continue. When she didn't, he cleared his throat.

"My lady …"

"Bella!"

"What do you -"

"Edward, call me Bella. It's my given name."

The dumbfounded look he gave her was comical and she would have laughed but she wanted to cry more.

She didn't know what was happening to her. Being away from all her subjects and men-at-arms, trying to immerse in the simple village life, and ignored for once in her life, she suddenly felt _ordinary_. And she loved it.

She didn't feel that she was in imminent danger, or that she was required to make decisions that would affect thousands of her people. For once, not all eyes were on her, observing her every move, actions. No one judging her and find her lacking, or too young.

She knew it was just an illusion, that Argyll and Montgomerie were always looming threats, but today with Edward, she could forget all those things. She could think of other things and just be … Bella.

"I can't call you by your forename, my lady."

"You will. I say so."

"My lady, you are qu -"

"I am _asking_ you to call me _Bella_, Edward," she said in her best queenly tone.

He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like "she must be coming down with fever again". She allowed herself a small smile. She moved closer to him and was about to assure him that she was perfectly fine when Peter Wallington appeared.

"Sir Anthony! Have you decided to grace us with your presence then, for the evenin'?"

She watched with interest as Edward scowled at the village lord. She had seen him react rather defensively towards their host and she was puzzled by it.

He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her closer to his side. "We are on our way to the village, sir. Good day to you."

* * *

[Edward]

He escorted the queen back to Egbert's house. He quickly made his excuses and left her with Dotty and her daughter, Rowyna.

Needless to say, she was quite surprised that he was willing to leave her to fend for herself, when he had been her shadow these past weeks.

Little Howie was her shadow, for the moment, he mused.

"I'm leaving my lady with you, young sir. Do you promise to guard her and not leave her side?"

"Yessir! Me lord, sir!"

He felt ashamed, but for the first time since he met the queen, Edward wanted to escape her presence and to find some corner to brood.

He didn't think he could stand it anymore, being this close to her. And he couldn't shake the feeling that she found him baffling – courteous one moment and lecherous in the next instant. He paused at that, irritated.

Was I really lecherous? He thought, frowning. Did he act like some debauched degenerate, not like the son of a duke? Correction – the son of Carlisle Cullen?

He let out a silent curse.

He was sure he had shocked her, and he was also certain she hadn't felt particularly complimented by his attention, fleeting though it was.

He had been walking with no conscious direction, and soon he found himself at the edge of the village. Before him were the fiefdom's plowed fields and there were some acreage.

He looked past the men preparing for the day's farm work and saw Egbert. The man saw him too, and his face broke into a wide grin.

"Me lord!" He waved him over and Edward walked to his side, near the pastures. Egbert was leading some of the animals to graze on the vegetation.

"Sir, I am at your service. What can I do?" he asked.

He was quite prepared to do backbreaking work today. Perhaps the labor would block thoughts of the queen, not that he was likely to succeed, but he was willing to try.

There were 10 to 13 men working the fields. The rest, mostly women and laddies under 15 years old, were working in the barn sheds and animal pens.

Farming was the center and sustenance of village life, in fact of the entire kingdom. But the village was the smallest unit of all self-sustaining fiefs. Hamlets, for the most part, were mostly dependent on the main manor's produce.

His family's landholdings, Kent, consisted of several estates and fiefs, all under the duchy's control and protection. His brothers would inherit some of these estates but the rest would be his.

Based on his talks with Egbert and some of the village men, Burin was one of the oldest fiefs in England. More than a hundred years ago the village was bigger, a cluster of more than 12 huts, but warring families broke up the community and half of the village were either killed or banished.

Edward wasn't surprised why the village was thriving. These were generations of family ties. Most were born, toiled, married, had children and later died within the village. It was the rare man who leave his home, especially in these remote parts.

The villeins were free men, and according to Egbert, none of them owed heavy labor service to the lord of the manor, but they were bound to the land and of course, subject to taxes.

He looked up at the sky, and smiled. It was nearing noon, break of day. He hadn't thought of the queen in two hours. He considered that a miracle.

* * *

By past mid-day the women arrived with food and ale, the queen among them. Howie was trailing along as directed. He was sure that even without his instructions, the little boy would still follow Isabella everywhere.

_Bella._

He shook his head, recalling that perplexing conversation with the queen.

Why in all the Heavens would he want to call her by her given name? He could, maybe, be persuaded to use her birth name in front of the villagers, but that was a necessity to keep up their ruse.

He was, in truth, rather fond of calling her "wife" – it was both intimate and impersonal. In his mind, to alleviate his guilt, he would sometimes accompany a wordless apology to Tanya whenever he would refer to the queen as his spouse.

He leaned forward on his ploughshare. Thoughts of Tanya made him pause.

He had been avoiding thinking about his wife for some time now. And God help him, it wasn't that difficult to push aside her image. There were many times when he couldn't even recall what she looked like.

In his mind, he had asked forgiveness for his sins, but loving Isabella was in his blood. He couldn't have stopped himself and his emotions any more than he could have stopped breathing. She was his life.

He found himself staring at the queen. She was helping Dotty settle baskets on the ground, which they covered with a straw mat, and laying out heaps for the daybreak meal.

He straightened up and then worked the fields some more.

He needed her like he needed air to live. But he had sworn his kinship to Tanya and she was the mother of his child.

He struck the ploughshare roughly and violently on the rich soil, digging.

Edward knew that when this was all over, he would return to Cullen Hall, and to his wife and son. And that was that.

* * *

"I thought warriors aren't farmers?" said the queen.

She had brought him his bread, fish and ale. When Egbert whistled to signal the noon break, he walked to a lone tree at the edge of the fields. He needed a little time to settle his thoughts.

"We are all farmers, my –," he paused, remembering. She raised her eyebrow at him, a silent reminder of her bidding. "As I was saying we're all farmers, _Bella_. We are all dependent on the land's bounty."

He watched her face color when he called her by her given name, as she had requested. He felt the beat of his heart quicken. She was truly a beautiful woman, and absolutely adorable when she was blushing. It made him wonder how far the pinkened skin –

He quickly banished that inappropriate thought away.

Still not looking directly at him, she rummaged the inside of her hidden pocket and took out knitting needles and yarn.

When he had emptied his wooden plate, she stopped her knitting and looked up at him at last.

"Did Dotty change your bandage?"

She nodded, still blushing. He wondered at that, frowning. Was he embarrassing her still?

He was content, for awhile, to sip at his cup in silence. What she said next made him nearly spill his ale.

"I … I asked her to bring a straw mat in our ... our room."

Slowly, he lowered his cup. "There was no need for that, my - … Bella." Calling her by her first name was going to take some time getting used to.

"Dotty was asking me why you slept outside of the room last night and I … well, I didn't know what else to say. The women were teasing me about it."

"May I ask what you did say to them?"

"I told them …" She hesitated, her face still red. "I told them I was annoyed with you because you wanted …err, your husbandly duties and I was too tired," she said weakly.

Edward tried to stem his wayward amusement. He tried very hard not to flat out laugh.

Oh, God. What would the villagers say? He thought, bemused. That he was too ardent and enticed by his wife that even injured, he would want to …?

His mouth quirked, one side turning up. She saw it and her eyes flashed.

"That's what Rosalie said wives say when they wanted to be left alone in their bedchambers!"

He couldn't contain it anymore. He laughed, and it was a big, snorting laughter.

"Stop laughing at me!"

"Beg your pardon, Bella," he said, still smirking. "So, now, the villagers will know that by this evening, I'd be sure to," he coughed, suddenly self-conscious, "do my _husbandly duties_."

She glared at him for a few more moments and then he saw it, a grudging little smile at her own expense.

Soon enough, Dotty came over and collected the queen. As for him, it was back to the fields for the rest of the post meridiem.

* * *

[Bella]

If she didn't know any better, she'd think she was becoming ill again. She felt unduly warm the entire morning and afternoon. She felt as if her blush had become permanent on her face.

The inn was brimming with villagers again this evening. There were only four small tables that would seat four, but she counted about 23 people in the room, excluding the young ones.

She was herself crushed between Rowyna and her friend, Mairead, who she just learned, was a bride and getting married the next evening. Three more of her host's cohorts were squeezed in with them in their corner of the room.

Bella looked over Mairead's head and peeked at Edward's table. He was seated with four other men, tankards of ale in front of them. Before she could look away, he turned his head and his eyes captured hers. As expected, she felt her cheeks heating. She gave him a faint smile and ducked her head.

Howie, ever present and vigilant, was standing by her side. She leaned down and whispered to him to go up in their room and rest. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. She sighed.

"It's past your bed time, little Howie." He shook his head again, his eyes were pleading with her. "Go to my husband and do what he will tell you." Dejected at being sent away, he shuffled towards Edward.

Rowyna giggled, watching the little boy. "We'd be left wit a sad wee laddie when yer gone, mistress Bella."

She smiled, hearing her name so casually mentioned in good, rowdy company. Another giggle followed by a long, admiring sigh and she turned to Mairead. She was looking rather fixedly, dreamily, at Edward.

"Such a foine, sae comely man!" the girl gushed, and she watched in annoyance as she darted her tongue out, as if to taste Edward in the air.

Bella frowned. This wasn't the first time she had heard comments about Edward's general handsomeness, or his physique – and some of the remarks from the older women were even more scandalous.

Rowyna was eyeing her somewhat exasperated countenance and she let out a cheery laugh, carefully poking her uninjured shoulder. She too, obviously, was quite taken with Edward.

"Och, beggin' yers, mistress Bella! Ye must be generous wit us!" She grinned at her. "Yer tae 'ave dae manly lad all yer lyf n' we's tae enjoy 'im sae briefly!"

She bit her lower lip and covered her instinctive cry of pain with a cough. She tried not to look too distressed, but Rowyna's words were like small knives digging inside her chest and ripping her heart out.

No, she thought sadly.

Not mine.

* * *

[Edward]

He watched her go, watched her climb up the narrow stairs to their room.

Egbert gave him a look – a strange combination of jovial male teasing and a dash of envy.

"Och, me gud man. Go on then! No need tae be wastin' yer tym wit us!"

There were cheers and downright rude and lewd suggestions from the men on how he should proceed with the rest of his night, in the company of his "wife".

Edward glanced about the room with slightly narrowed eyes, but he relaxed when they only grinned at his show of protectiveness.

"Ahh, sir, dinna go stabbin' us yet wit yer mighty iron. Best tae use sumtin' else fur yer plowin'."

If he was in his castle's great hall he would have speared the man gutless, but right now, he merely shrugged one shoulder and grudgingly cracked a smirk, for they were all good-humoredly drunk and in truth, he needed to follow the queen upstairs anyway. Even with these neighborly village folk, he would feel better if he was where she was.

He stood up and made a show of straightening his hair and tunic.

"I bid you all a good night, sirs," he said, offering them all a bow. He was followed with easy teasing and laughter as he slowly climbed the stairs.

When he was standing by her closed door, he froze.

Should I knock? He thought. Or perhaps, he could just pretend to have forgotten her "invitation" this morning and resume his sleeping post, down there by the hard, rough floor?

He was about to sit on the floor when the door opened.

The queen – as she had been all day it seemed – was still blushing. Wordlessly, she stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He eyed her for one second longer, and taking a deep breath, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

The room was dark save for one lone candle by the window. The queen sat down on the cot, and fidgeted.

He stood still for a moment, clueless of his next move. The rolled straw mat was in a corner and he went to get it. As soon as he stepped forward, the queen stood and made to grab the mat.

"Let me do it," she said hastily.

"No, my lady. Please, sit and rest."

"Bella," she muttered, correcting him again.

He busied himself unrolling the mat and laid it down on the floor. She had asked Dotty for another pillow and blanket, and she handed these to him without a word, or a glance.

He kept his face averted, letting her know she still had privacy even with him in the room with her. He heard the rustle of fabric and assumed that she has settled herself under the covers.

"Should I snuff out the light …?" He couldn't quite say her given name yet. The small room was too damned intimate for first names.

"Could you," she stopped and exhaled daintily. "Could you, please. Thank you."

He settled down on the straw mat and found himself too restless to sleep. The darkness was too suggestive, too heavy with hidden longing. Worse, he could smell her flowery scent, and damned his senses - he could feel her warmth and it was making him grit his teeth.

Edward shifted his big body on the floor, trying to get comfortable, to still his rioting nerves. He tried to calm his breathing, too.

"Sleep well, Edward," she said softly.

He closed his eyes, absorbing her sweet voice. "Good night … Bella."

* * *

***** a/n**

More of the village life soon, in Part 2.

Again, thanks for the reviews!


	21. Village life Part2

**Stephenie Meyer's. **The three movies Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse, as of end-August, have earned gross revenues of $1,792,138,873. The budget for all three was only $155,000,000 (so, in splitting Breaking Dawn in two parts, that there is an additional $1.5 billion _at least_)

**Chapter19/Village life Part2**

[Bella]

He was gone when she woke up the next morning. She was both annoyed and relieved.

Annoyed because she wanted to look at him while he was asleep, his admirable face relaxed and unguarded, and relieved because she was tired of blushing like a silly, smitten girl in his presence.

There was a soft knock on the door. Her first instinct was to say "Enter" but she remembered Edward's reminder to her to always ask first who was at the door. "This is not the castle and there are no guards and servants about," he had told her. In truth she felt reprimanded like a child, but his stern expression only made her smile.

"It's Rowyna, mistress Bella," she said behind the door.

Bella quickly invited her in. Rowyna entered talking and she was cheerfully informed that all the young women of the village – all 17 of them - would have a communal bathing later today in preparation for Mairead's wedding this evening.

"We 'ave a full day of cookin' n' readyin' dae church n' dae square fur eve's feastin'," she added. "Wud ye join us then?"

Rowyna brought a bowl of greenish but odorless water and clean cloths. She helped her wash her face and arms, and to put on her homespun. Her change of bandage, however, would have to wait until this afternoon. She tested moving her injured shoulder and was relieved that the pain was much, much more tolerable now. Dotty had applied a wonderfully-smelling balm to the wound twice yesterday and it seemed to have hastened the healing.

Bella smiled slightly when she saw Rowyna admiring the smooth fabric of her clothes, which she had hanged on the wall hook for tonight's event. It was a simple bliaud, one she had been wearing while traveling the roads these past weeks. It wasn't what a queen would wear normally, but still it was made of fine silk and cotton.

She frowned at this, though. The fabric of her clothing was an indication of her social status and while not exactly royalty, it was undoubtedly what a noble woman would wear.

The homespun dress she had borrowed from Dotty was made of linen and wool. The villagers all wore sheepskin and the more prosperous among them, wear linen.

"Tis' sae foine," Rowyna cooed, slowly running her hands against the velvet of her ermine-lined cloak, discarded at the foot of the small cot.

"When I get home I will send it to you, if you wish," she told her.

"Och, no, mistress! Such fancy's not fer me," she said regretfully. "Only a well born lady be ownin' furs."

Her kindly, yet knowing eyes alerted something in Bella. And then she realized what she had been oblivious all along – only the nobles were allowed to wear furs. It was the way of things for hundreds of years. She frowned, for she didn't think that was fair, at all.

Maybe there was something I could about that, she thought, distracted.

Rowyna couldn't meet her eyes now but she was still very much fascinated by the ermine. She was touching the velvet as if it was a forbidden thing to do. Why was she acting so as if –

Oh …

Did she know, she wondered.

Only nobles of royal birth wore velvet and ermine which was the finest of furs in the whole of England and neighboring kingdoms.

"Rowyna? What do the villagers say about my husband and me?"

"Ahh … ahm …" Her face was red and Bella was suddenly alarmed. She must warn Edward!

She clasped Rowyna's hands and urgently said, "You must tell me."

"Me Mam and Da know ye as kins of nobles, mistress Bella. Tis in yer bearin' n' clothin'."

"That is all?"

"It's true, mistress. Ye canna deny it," she insisted.

Bella thought quickly.

"Yes, my husband's families are landholders but we were beset by outlaws on the road, as what my husband told your father."

Rowyna's eyes brightened at this confirmation and she clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oooh Ah knew it! 'E was a noble warrior, eh? Yer manly lad?"

Bella watched her face carefully. It was a pretty and guileless face and she could see no malice or slyness in her expression. She allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

"That, he is."

* * *

"Bella."

A shiver of delight caressed her spine at the sound of his soothing, luxurious voice.

The village's communal oven was located in the inn's kitchen and she was here with Dotty and seven other women, baking. She was assigned with the task of boiling beans. She was originally in charged of peeling and dicing pumpkin and apples, but she was terrible at it and nearly sliced off her own finger.

She glanced up at Edward. He was smiling down at her, doubtless sweaty and tendrils of her hair falling all over her face. He was holding up the carcasses of three plump hares, ears tied together with a string of rough hide.

Bella blinked and paled. He saw it and smirked. She glared at him and with defiance, she took – albeit gingerly less the contents of her stomach decides to leave it – the offered kill from him.

"Och, laddie, sae brawny!" An ancient woman said, her toothless grin was charming, and Bella smiled. Another woman Dotty's age stood up and snatched the dead hares, thankfully, from her grasp before she actually fainted.

Edward's face turned red and he bowed gallantly in front of the women. "All my pleasure, to be sure, my ladies."

More exclamations of gratefulness from the women and then Edward asked to "borrow" her and take her away from kitchen duty.

"I have to show you something," he said, guiding her outside of the inn. Curious, she followed him and then stopped when she saw the brown horse in front of her. She gulped, her usual fear of horses surfacing. He saw it.

"It is a palfrey, a horse for riding. I purchased her from Wallington it was his own horse, in fact."

"It is a hunting horse?"

"It is. Her gate and gallop is superb, Bella, she is a well-trained horse like Lilly."

Once again, she shivered slightly and her breathing quickened as he said her name. She didn't think she'd ever get over the pleasing sound of her name coming out of his lips. But in the next moment her feeling of elation vanished.

"Let me help you up," he said, walking to her side with purpose, for he must have seen her dismay.

"Are you sure? My shoulder -" She let it left unsaid that she might not be well enough to go galloping in the fields yet today. Or forever, she thought.

"If you can cook and bake, you can ride," he teased. "Come, you've had three days rest, and it's been more than a sennight since you were injured."

"That's just it, Edward," she said and she was embarrassed to hear the whining timbre in her tone. "I can't cook, and I certainly can't bake! And I absolutely disliked riding horses." She almost jumped back when the horse neighed dismissively at her, almost as if laughing at her fear of it.

"Bella," he said soothingly, as if she was a damned horse herself, one that was extremely skittish. "We leave in three days. Whether you liked it or not, you are riding this horse."

He was standing too close to her now. Bella forgot what she was protesting about, gazing up at his green, green eyes. In a second, she found herself nodding. She would have agreed to anything he said, at that moment.

* * *

It was mid-day and the whole village was busy preparing for the wedding of Mairead to her groom, Wulfric, the older brother of little Howie. Presently, the boy was grumbling, banned from the kitchen. He was caught three times snatching apples from one of the baskets.

Bella, her shoulder a little sore from the bumpy horse riding, was back in the bakery and was helping the women in making bread and pies for the huge feast.

Peter Wallington's maids had brought down mead and wine earlier - these were leftovers from his daughter's wedding the night before. He also sent stuffed goose enough to feed half of the village.

Bella approved of the manor lord's generosity. The villagers were under his protection and his goodwill would only bring more harmony among his fief dwellers.

At last, the food and drink were prepared and laid out, and the church was ready for the ceremony.

Rowyna and Mairead fetched her in the kitchen and together, they walked outside to a small, hidden lake near the village for their bathing.

"Do you love him much?" She asked the bride. Her soon-to-be-husband was the son of the only potter in the village and he was himself an apprentice craftsman.

Mairead gave her a sweet smile and teary eyed, confessed her love for her groom.

"May Ah ask ye aboot yer husband, mistress Bella?" Rowyna asked shyly.

She choked on the cider they were all partaking. There were giggles from the other women who were, in contrast, unabashedly but good-naturedly eavesdropping on their conversation.

She blushed and they all erupted into louder giggles.

"Do tell, me lady!" called the others.

"Well, what do you want to know?" she said, tamping down on her natural impulse to let out an undignified titter herself. In truth, she wanted to talk about Edward. She was tired of keeping him her secret, one likely she would take to her grave.

"How'd ye met 'im?"

"Was it love bloom'd dae instant, like?"

"Were ye betrothed in infancy?"

Bella couldn't help it, she cried. She felt tears flow down her cheeks.

"I have loved him since I was a very young girl," she said softly, wiping at her tears. "Perhaps, even before I was born," she whispered, giving them all a watery smile.

"I dreamed of carrying his children - three little boys and three little girls!" She laughed, revealing her heart's deepest craving. "I wished a quiet life with him, in the country, gently rearing our noisy, playful and beautiful brood. And I will tell them every day until I die … what a wonderful father they have."

Mairead was in tears listening to her, and she told her that that was what she wanted too. Bella didn't tell her, but unlike her, she would get what she wished for.

Unnoticed by her, Dotty and some of the village mothers had joined them in the lake. And later, when they were finished with their scrubbing and soaking, she tended her shoulder and she was surprised to find that she felt no pain, at all.

Dotty walked alongside her back to the inn. "I've seen dae way 'e looks at ye, mistress, as a man shud be wit 'is woman," she told her quietly. She stopped walking, her hand on Bella's arm, and with a great show of solicitude, she said, "Ah see great love in yer lad's eyes, chyld, all fer ye. 'E wud give ye dae lyf that yur wishin' fur."

Bella stared at her as if she had sprouted an extra head. She wondered, briefly, if Dotty like Alice, had witch blood. But she only blushed as was her wont, and put aside her words.

* * *

[Edward]

He watched her laugh and his heart beat faster. He watched her relate and acquaint with the women, and he smiled indulgently at her. He never let his eyes drift away from her, not once, in the church during the ceremony. She looked as pretty as the bride, even more so.

When the vows were made and the old priest declared them man and wife, the villagers cheered and sang, and carrying the newly weds on their back they swarmed to the village square.

A long table was placed to the side of the square and the vast range of roasted meat from lamb and hare, smoked trout, cod soup, stuffed goose, cheeses, bread and pies – would rival even the more wealthy manors in big towns. The selection of drinks alone - ale, mead, cider and especially wine, was an indication of the village's prosperity.

He searched for and found the queen, who was dancing with – no surprise – Howie. A few of the village folk started playing a woodwind instrument with a wind bag, and the cheerful, raunchy music was accompanied by a piper and a bodhran.

They were dancing in a circle now with the groom and his bride in the center. Bella looked up and unerringly found him, standing at the side lines with eyes fixed only on her. She waved her hand at him and his chest expanded at the sight of her delighted face.

When the song ended and a new line of dancers formed again, Bella smoothly escaped the women's invitations to dance again.

"This is so lovely!" She laughed. He handed her a cup of mead. She sniffed at it.

"It's only honey wine," he said, leaning down closer to her ear for he didn't want to have to yell at her over the loud music. He was almost whispering the words. "I would never serve you ale, Bella."

"Oh? Why? You think I am an unruly, wanton drunk?" She stifled a giggle and drank from her cup.

Edward was charmed by this playful side to her. He hid it well, or at least he thought he did, but inside, he was in a bit of a turmoil.

It was that talk he had earlier with Dotty. It was one of the strangest conversations he's had in his life, because the woman seemed to know what was on his mind. But he shook his head and pushed aside Dotty's words, for now. He would have more time to think about it later.

Bella was tapping a foot and watching the dancers.

"Would you like to dance again?" he asked.

"Are you joining me?"

"No, I do not dance. My apologies." He gave her a small bow.

"How can you not?" she teased. She lowered her voice and he was obliged to lean down again to hear her. "You're going to be a duke one day. Aren't you required to dance in your own roundel? When you host festivals and tournaments?"

He smiled and shook his head. "As you said, I will be the duke. I don't have to do what I don't desire to do. Unless you will bid me do otherwise, your grace," he added respectfully.

She snickered at him. "I've ordered you to leave the camp and go home oft times, do you not recall? And did you? Did you do as I desired for you to do?"

He straigthened up and stared rather broodingly at the newly weds, happily wrapped around each other in a jig. "You might as well have just killed me rather than leave your side, my love," he muttered to himself, draining his cup of ale.

"What was that?" she said blandly, her attention back with the dancers.

"I was just saying that my father will kill me if I had left your side, my lady," he said quickly.

After three songs, the village lord, Wallington, walked to the center of the square for his traditional blessing of the bride and groom. The village folk settled down and shushed their inattentive children.

"God loveth a cheerful giver."

"Lord God, hear yer servants!" from the villagers.

"Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth …"

"Hear us!" A louder cheer from the listening folk.

Wallington located and found Edward in the crowd. He bowed to him, smirking slightly.

"Sir Anthony! Put on the whole armor of God, and let us listen." He bowed again, and stepped graciously to the side, clearly inviting him to step forward and to address the villagers.

The lord of the manor's gesture was met by an even louder cheer from the people.

He glanced down at Bella, standing still by his side. She was looking up at him, her lovely face was pink, and there was a glimmer of some strong emotion in her beautiful eyes.

Encouraged, Edward walked to the center of the square and made a formal bow to the crowd, acknowledging their welcome. He understood that as the village lord's guests, he had been invited to give the blessing to the newly weds.

He straightened up and smiled at all their eager faces. This was something he was used to doing. As heir to his father's name, he has had experienced talking to quite a number of yeomen gathering, peasants, and villeins in Kent.

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder," he said, his voice soft yet carrying. He looked directly at the queen. "God, not man. For if ever two were one, then surely we are. And God hath put us together, not man." He saw her confused expression and was thankful that he had not given himself away with his almost sacrilegious words.

Edward forced his eyes to leave her face and finally, he looked at Mairead and Wulfric. "May you be two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one. And may you be blessed with many children and bounty, that you may build a home not a house, for your family. That you will stay together, in love and in harmony … God willing and by His grace, let it be so."

There was a heart beat of silence after his last words, and then the villagers erupted with the loudest cheer so far, accompanied by salutations. Men and women surged forward and tapped him on his shoulder, and the women beamed at him.

He looked up and stared at the only person in the whole world whose opinion mattered to him most.

* * *

It was fortunate that when the men galloped into the village that night, Edward was behind the big tree near the inn, taking a leak. As soon as he heard the clutter of what sounded like half a dozen hoofs on the small pebbled grounds of the village center, he located Bella at once and without a word, grabbed her hand and led her to the barn shed.

"Stay here."

"What -"

The barn door creaked noisily open and Edward swung around, grabbing his long knife.

"Me lord! Tis only me!" said the small voice of Howie's.

"Howie, get your brother and Egbert and bring them here."

Edward slipped out of the barn and ran towards the inn under the cover of the dark. He didn't bother entering the inn door, which was facing the square, but climbed up against the side of the brick wall to the window of their room.

Once inside, he quickly gathered the queen's things and stuffed these inside her satchel, and he grabbed his broadsword and a few of his own things. He exited the same way he entered and jumped the last four feet to the ground.

When he entered the barn shed, Wulfric and Egbert were there, talking in hushed tones. The two horses were already saddled and Howie was quietly sobbing, his arms around the queen.

"Me lord," said Egbert quickly. "Ye must stay 'ere, dinna leave yet. Thair are men posted 'round dae village."

"Do you know who they are, and how many? And what are their weapons?" he asked calmly. He was the warrior now, and the queen's guard.

"Only four entered dae village, sir. We think two's outside, on dae outskirts," from Wulfric. "Them's Scots, sir, 'n we 'now 'em as squads, or hired patrol."

Burin was a border town. In fact Saint-Kirk was strictly Scots' land but it was under the jurisdiction of the English crown by virtue of a claim made by England's king more than 60 years ago. These men, contracted by some of the lowlander clans, had been traveling the towns, said Wulfric. Their main job was to make sure the troubles of London were not being visited on the immediate area.

"Sir Peter is wit 'em now, bein' offered meat 'n ale," said Egbert.

Edward drew his sword and stood by the door, peeking out. He could see lights from the torches surrounding the square. One of the Scots was lurking outside of the circle of people and if they leave now, they would be spotted at once.

"We will stay here until it is near dawn. Make sure to give them more wine."

"Tis to be done, me lord," said Egbert.

"Sir, pardon me boldness but who are ye? Yer not jist a knight or a yeoman even, like Sir Peter," said Wulfric, perplexed but determined to get answers.

Edward took a deep breath and looked at the queen. She had been silent all this time, her hand in little Howie's hair, trying to console the inconsolable child.

She nodded at him, and permission was given.

"My name is Edward Cullen. My father is the Duke of Kent."

"Oh, sir!" Wulfric immediately bowed his head, so did Egbert.

"Ye're 'is lordship's wuman, me lady?" said a tearful Howie.

"No, little Howie." It was Edward who replied. "She is our queen."

He was looking directly at her when he said this. And in the midst of unknown dangers, he smiled reassuringly at her and bowed his head.

Both Egbert and Wulfric were stunned into immobility, only their eyes were moving, and these were swinging back and forth between the queen and Edward.

Jerked into movement at last, they both fell on their knees and bowed low before the queen. Little Howie remained locked around her, unable yet to process this new development.

"Howie, let go o' dae _queen_!" Wulfric hissed at his brother.

Bella sighed and tightened her arm around the little boy.

"Get up, both of you," she ordered. Both men slowly stood up, their heads still bowed. And to Howie, she said, "You must keep this secret, little Howie. Do you understand? Do what your brother will tell you. That's an order from your queen."

Edward saw her chew on her lip and he was suddenly horrified by how close to tears she was.

"My lady -" he said, approaching her. "What is it?"

She shook her head and she bent down on one knee and hugged the little boy to her.

"They will not come to harm, Edward?" She looked up at him. "These men will not hurt the villagers?"

"No, my lady. They are rovers. They do not plunder villages."

She nodded, trusting him at once. She stood up and wiped at her tears, then Howie's.

She turned to the men. "Egbert, I thank you for your kindness for we are strangers to you, yet you have shown us compassion and opened your home to us. I didn't want to leave like this, without saying my fare thee well to your wife and daughter. Will you relay to them my gratitude for all their caring?"

"Aye, me lady," he croaked.

"And Wulfric, you've a lovely new wife and Mairead loved you very much. When there is peace again in the land and if I am still …" She stopped, and looked over at Edward. He nodded encouragingly. "When war has ended, bring this little man to me."

Amazingly, tears were flowing down Wulfric's cheeks. "A-aye, me lady. 'N may Ah say, me lady, we, 'n Ah speak fer Egbert and dae village folk - we wud fight fer yer lyf, in dae 'ere n' now."

Bella smiled, and quietly ordered the two men to look her directly in the eye.

"Dwellers of Burin, you have your queen's gratitude, now and always." And she graciously inclined her head to them, and held out her hand. Wulfric, the least shy of the two, slowly bowed and lightly placed his mouth on the back of the queen's hand.

Egbert, still frozen, had to be invited twice. He not only knelt before her, but kissed the hem of her gown.

"Oh, Egbert, stand up! We are not in court. Only ambitious nobles wanting more lands, gold and power do that," she said, exasperated.

Edward smiled, hearing that. He didn't think it was possible to fall in love with her all over again, but at this moment, his love for her grew tremendously.

There was a scuffling noise near the door and quicker than a blink, the three men blocked the entrance, ready to cut the throat of whoever was about to intrude.

"It is I, Sir Peter!" came a muffled, hushed voice.

Egbert peeked out and satisfied that he was not followed, he stepped aside and let Wallington inside. The two men resumed their respectful, supplicant poses before the queen, and now little Howie too, his eyes glistening with pure adoration, was kneeling before her. She rolled her eyes but she was smiling at the little boy.

And the village lord, Peter Wallington, no fool, looked first to Edward, his eyes wide, and to the queen. Without further explanation – and he seemed to not need it – he too bowed before her. "Your highness," he said, awed.

* * *

At the break of dawn, when it was still dark and only the sounds of snoring from drunken men following their silent escape, they left the village.

* * *

*****a/n**

The speeches given by Edward and Peter Wallington are from the New Testament and the Book of Common Prayer.

"Two souls with but a single thought. Two hearts that beat as one." – Friedrich Halm.


	22. Lure

In 2003, when **Stephenie Meyer** first sent out a few chapters of Twilight to publishers, she pitched it as a "supernatural, romance comedy." (Entertainment Weekly, 2008 article)

**Chapter20/Lure**

[Jasper]

"Walk with me," said the queen mother, waving her waiting-ladies away with a smile. Her daughter, Princess Angela, was accompanying her mother this morn. When her retinue was gone, Queen Renee wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulder and kissed the top of her head in affection.

Jasper looked away, giving mother and daughter their moment of privacy.

They were in the grounds of Forks Hall, the smallest of Kent's estates but it was the most secured with a deep moat surrounding the manor. It was a daunting water defense because of Lake Hegan, and if coming from anywhere but Cullen Hall, the only way to reach the manor was by boat. This place was his by birthright and he was pleased with this stronghold.

Jasper arrived last night and by break of dawn, his brother left to journey the seven days to Saint-Kirk. They had heard from the duke that he would be joining his brother in the remote castle soon thereafter.

All morning today, he had been attending to the queen mother as the gracious host. His mother, Tanya and Lady Rosalie were here too. He knew his brother was annoyed with him, but he brought Lady Alice along because he couldn't leave her in Cullen Hall. Besides, she could offer additional comfort to Queen Renee.

He wasn't present when his brother and mother delivered the news to the queen mother of what had happened in Balan Pass. Emmett later told him that the queen mother took the news very stoically. She was no stranger to bad news, or tragedy, Queen Renee.

It was Princess Angela who had become quite agitated and had grilled Emmett, demanding that she be given even the most brutal detail of the ambush. Lady Alice said the sisters were very close to each other and it was quite known to all who were familiar with them that the younger princess adored and worshiped the queen.

Jasper was in fact surprised that Princess Angela, who was 14 years old, was so wise for her age. She had told him of her worry over her sister and she likewise subjected him to hours of questioning about what he had seen of the queen before they separated from them.

It proved a good decision to bring Lady Alice because as soon as the queen mother saw her, she was whisked away and closeted with her for a long time. When Queen Renee and Princess Angela emerged from that meeting, their aggravation seemed to have abated.

Perhaps she was really sighted and a seer to the queen mother, Jasper thought of Lady Alice.

"Tell me about your brother," said Queen Renee.

Jasper knew she meant Edward, so he told her how he was as a brother, his mentor and friend, as the first born of Kent, and as a father to his infant son and husband to his wife. All these were given in mannerly descriptions since he couldn't quite contain his admiration of his older brother.

The queen mother fired question after question about Edward and he wondered what Lady Alice had told her.

"I hear only praises about Kent's virtuous and esteemed heir. But tell me, Jasper, what are his weaknesses? Every great hero has an Achilles heel," she said, somewhat impatiently. They had reached the long tree-lined stretch of Forks Hall garden.

"I was quite a burden to him, my lady," he deadpanned. "It could be yours truly." He bowed to her.

She laughed and she was surprised by her laughter. It was the first real laughter he heard from her since he had arrived.

In another moment, he was inwardly squirming for she was staring at him now, and he felt that all his secrets was revealed to her in that moment.

"You are, indeed, the charmer," she said, pinning him with a steady eye. He gulped.

"I understand from your mother that you remain unfettered." She released him from her stare and started walking again, to his great relief. "How ever did you elude all those betrothal contracts in the past?" she mused.

"With a lot more than charm, my lady," he demurred.

This time, it was Princess Angela who snickered, her hand covering her mouth daintily. She then looked sheepishly at him and he bowed his head to her.

Queen Renee only nodded in agreement, giving him a sideways smile.

"Alice is my daughter's favorite cousin," she said suddenly, and he nearly tripped. He felt his throat constricting and he coughed. The queen mother, who seemed all-seeing to him now, said, "I do believe Alice will be allowed to choose who she weds."

* * *

[Montgomerie]

Not for the first time, he broke out in a cold sweat. He had been drinking too much and his ague was disquieting him more than usual.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he was becoming terror-stricken of what might happen if the queen remained in power, missing though she was.

Argyll's plan to kill the queen had failed and now they were all branded as traitors. Before, there were only rumors and unsupported accusations about who had the king and Prince George assassinated. But with Argyll's foul up, his mess of an attempt to ambush the queen's party, news of their treason was all over the kingdom.

He had already punished that spineless worm-gut nephew of his, Laurent, who seemed to be following not only his orders, but that of the witch.

It was only Isabella's continued absence that was keeping the rest of the bastard nobles from ruining him. But the tide could easily turn against them and he could end up without his head, arms and legs.

Kent had a tight rein on the barons still loyal to the queen. Combined, both his and Argyll's forces could hold them off but it would not be a limitless defense for arming hundreds of men, especially mercenaries, cost a bloody, damned fortune.

His time was running out. He had to kill Argyll and grab command of his wealth and army. Under the law, Argyll's wife's family would be the rightful heirs to his vast holdings. That bastard had killed every threat to his gold and lands, including his own brothers until there were no more left of his family.

Montgomerie let out a cruel laugh at that. It was why he had arranged the marriage between Victoria and Argyll. He was surprised the bastard didn't catch on to his maneuverings. Perhaps he had been overestimating him all these years.

"Me lord." A servant appeared before him. "'Er ladyship 'as arrived, me lord."

* * *

[Edward]

They had been traveling slowly. He couldn't dare go as fast as he wanted to for fear of causing her more pain. The queen had assured him that her shoulder was not paining her anymore but still, he'd rather not push it.

Her wound was indeed, healing at a miraculous speed. Dotty has prepared a balm for her and a healing concoction to take daily, and for several times a day.

The sun was mid sky when they had stopped near a small stream. She did her private cleaning and when she was done, he offered her bread and cheese. While she was eating, he scanned the area, noting all possible exits in case they had to quickly move. It seemed a safe, temporary haven.

"Do you think that we could rest here for the night?" she asked. She was sitting on the grass, her back against the trunk of a tree.

Edward looked up and assessed the sky. There would be a moon this evening and the clouds foretell good weather.

"We could stay here for an hour or two, my lady, and then we must move again. This is still too near the village and the rovers may gain on us, if they are so inclined on this same direction," he said. "We must try to get more distance before sundown."

She sighed, rather impatiently, but she smiled at him. "_Bella_."

And he returned her smile. "We're no longer in the village."

"And?"

It was his turn to let out an exasperated sigh. "Very well."

Quite satisfied, she closed her eyes. She was asleep almost instantly.

Edward settled himself beneath a nearby tree and eyes closed, divided his attention to thinking, and looking out for possible intruders.

They have five or six hours more of traveling before they lose the light, and by the next sundown, they needed to be in a specific place. It was a fairly safe place if they needed to roost for longer than a night but it would take the whole day on the morrow to travel to get to it. His father and brothers knew of this place and Edward was planning to leave some sign to let them know that they were traveling on the same direction. The place was called, albeit a bit sinisterly, the hangman's church.

It was the ruins of an old holy place but it was not just a church it was a monastery. Nobody knew exactly – or nobody alive remembered – when the monastery was built or when it was destroyed for that matter.

About several decades ago, three monks were found dead amongst the ruins. Their rotting corpses were still dangling, hanged from a giant tree. The last time he passed by the ruins, the ropes used to hang the monks were still there, a grim reminder. But the bones had long since gone, pecked by bats and birds until there was only dust.

Perhaps he should keep the haunting legend of the place to himself or the queen would be unable to rest there.

He knew he wouldn't sleep but his eyes remained shut. The horses and other animals in the forest would alert them if anyone or anything, be it man or beast, was near.

Thus relaxed, Edward allowed his mind to wander over to what Dotty had told him the day before.

* * *

He was waiting at the edge of the village for the women to come back from their bathing, when she was suddenly by his side, eyes narrowed at him.

"Me lord, may Ah say sumtin'?

"You may, madame," he said, his tone encouraging.

"Me Mam as told me – bless'd 'er soul she was - that dae pains o' love be sweeter far than all other pleasures be," she began. "I've seen in me dreams yer lady 'n she was loved by ye fur years 'n years til both o' ye are no more. But, sir, ye wud make 'er cry before ye'll make 'er happy."

He went still, staring at the woman. But she wasn't finished yet. "A warning, sir - there'd be many sacrifices 'n ties a-broken before ye say tis all gud 'n done."

She met his stare for stare. And then Edward just nodded, once, curtly, the way of men who would like to pretend they were still in charge. The woman made a low curtsy and walked away.

_Sacrifices and ties severed before it is all good and done_ …

He rubbed his hand roughly against his stubbly jaw and looked at the sleeping Bella. He did nothing but gaze at her for several minutes.

He felt rather old and weary at that moment.

* * *

That night, they met a family of traveling tinkers and they were welcomed into their small camp. The tinsmith's wife, son and two daughters were on their way home, they said, after half a year on the road.

The tinsmith was entertaining them about the life and trials of the traivellin fowk, or _luchd siubhail_. Edward knew _Gàidhlig_ since the Cullens had affinities with the highland clans.

"_A bheil Gàidhlig agaibh?_" The tinsmith addressed Bella. "_Co às a tha thu?_" The man wanted to know if she could speak Gaelic and was inquiring where their home was. He answered both questions and translated the conversation to the queen.

"You must teach it to me," she whispered. "I've always loved hearing the Scots speaking their old tongue."

"Start with _slàinte mhòr agad_," he suggested to her. He said the same to the tinsmith's wife after she handed him two cups of cider and he raised his cup to her and her family in a gesture of goodwill.

"_Slàinte," _the queen said to them, but not quite getting the last two words. The tinsmith's wife beamed at her, and Bella blushed in pleasure. "What did I say?" she said, still smiling at the woman, who was now offering her trinkets.

"You have wished them good health," he said, grinning down at her. He purchased the trinkets for the queen. "_Slàinte mhor a h-uile là a chi 's nach fhaic!_" he said to the tinsmith, raising his cup again in good cheer. Then, to the queen, he did the same. "Great health to you every day that I see you and every day that I don't."

Soon, she was stifling her yawns and she graciously said goodnight to their companions.

Edward spent a couple more hours sharing a tankard of ale with the tinsmith and his son. He asked him what he had seen in his travels in the last year. Specifically, he inquired about the armed squads roaming both the lowlands and highlands.

Not too many in these parts, he said. Down at the border towns however, Montgomerie's allies were gaining power and weapons, and there were rumors that he was amassing more arms to go after Argyll.

Edward wasn't surprised to hear that. He knew that soon enough after the failed attempt to assassinate the queen, those two traitors would eventually destroy each other.

If I or my father don't kill them first, he thought, grim.

He stood up and stretched, and bowing slightly to the tinsmith's wife, he bid them goodnight. "_Oidhche mhath_," returned the woman with a kind smile.

He walked to where the queen was sleeping on a borrowed straw mat. It was some distance from the camp fire, and she was shivering a bit. He shrugged off his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. He settled down beside her on the mat. He did think it was grossly improper to lie so near her but he was slightly drunk and he swore to himself that he would wake up before she did and she would never know.

* * *

He was wrong.

As soon as Morpheus abandoned him, he woke up. He felt her immediately. Sometime during the night, Bella had turned to him, perhaps seeking warmth, and in her sleep, she had moved almost on top of him, her head tucked under his chin.

_Oh, God._

He took a deep breath and let it out in a huge exhale. He regretted the action for with the rising of his chest, he woke up the queen. She stirred a little, and feline-like, nuzzled her forehead against his jaw. He prayed his rough, unshaven chin would not bruise her delicate skin. And in the next instant, all thoughts fled his mind.

Bella did not just nuzzle. While still in the process of fully waking up, she slid a hand slowly from his chest and past his middle abdomen. His stomach muscles tightened and his lungs stopped taking in air. He laid there frozen, clenching his jaw tight, until her small hand brushed his -

He sat up immediately and dislodged the queen, who fell in an awkward yet charming heap beside him.

She emitted a small shriek and he hastily stood up. In an instant, while she was still blinking in confusion, he snatched his cloak and wrapped it around his waist like a shield. Hell, it _was_ a shield.

The tinsmith's wife, seeing that both of them were awake, called out to them to break the morning fast. He made his excuses to the woman, something about a trip to a nearby river, and he almost ran out of there.

* * *

[Bella]

She watched Edward striding quickly into the woods. She sat up and winced. In truth her shoulder wasn't paining her anymore but still, she felt a momentary sting of discomfort.

She stood up and stretched. She did it quite luxuriously, and she smiled up at the bright morning sky. She was surprised that she had a good sleep. Her muscles weren't sore at all, as if she had slept on a soft mattress instead of the hard earth.

The tinsmith's wife had prepared a delicious morning meal and her smile widened. She was quite ravenous. Using hand signals, she indicated to the woman that her cooking was splendid but that she was going to wait for Edward to come back before partaking. She assumed he had told them that they were husband and wife again.

In another hour, they were waving their goodbyes and offering good wishes to each other.

"What was her name? I never asked," she said to him, watching the tinkers ride away in the opposite direction. She was gripping her horse's reins and the poor horse protested. Edward clicked his tongue to calm the mare.

"She had a most ordinary name," he said with a teasing grin.

"Well? What is it?"

"_Iseabail._"

She shivered a little at the lilting tone of his voice. He said it in a beautiful accent with emphasis on the first syllable. She knew the Cullens were a Scots-French clan but she never realized they actually speak Gaelic.

Hearing her name now, spoken in the ancient language, made her smile. She couldn't decide now whether she wanted him to call her Bella or _Iseabail._

He seemed to have read her thoughts. "Perhaps it would be less impudent of me if I should call you by your Gaelic name, Iseabail, _a chuisle_."

"What was that word?"

"What word?"

"The word you said after my name?"

"_Iseabail."_

"Yes, and then you said another word."

"No, I didn't."

She halted her horse, forcing him to stop as well. She raised her eyebrow at him and waited. She knew she was doing it, acting like the queen. She straightened her body and arranged her face into an expression of austerity. She _was_ the queen, after all.

"I heard you say 'akwishla'," she insisted, repeating the word as she heard it.

"_Mo chuisle mo chroi_," he said softly, looking at her squarely in the eye. He said it as muhkwishla muhkhri.

"Tell me," she said.

"It means my heart beats for you," he said quietly. And they just stared at each other, as if in some bizarre contest.

Bella stopped breathing. She thought, tried to imagine, and couldn't.

What did he mean! Did he mean it at all? She thought in frustration, in hope, in vain. And to her complete mortification, she felt herself blush.

"Oh," she muttered. "Well, err … that's ... very kind of you."

She saw his mouth quirk into a small smile and she bristled at that. Why was she the one who was uncomfortable with this while he … he seemed defiant in some way?

"Shall we continue with our journey, _a chuisle?"_

She cleared her throat and blushed even deeper.

Say something, Bella! she silently screamed at herself. Wipe that knowing grin off his handsome face!

"Of course, Edward, _a ghra_." She saw him startle and she smirked, smug.

"Do you know what that means?"

Her smile disappeared. She had no idea what it meant. She heard the tinker's wife call her husband that word last night. She hoped it didn't refer to anything tawdry or, worse, vulgar.

"Err, no … What does it mean?"

The blasted man gave her that crooked smile of his, the one that always made her heart pulse skip a beat.

He shrugged and urged his horse forward. And he laughed, refusing to tell her. So she gritted her teeth, her cheeks royally flushed.

* * *

They had stopped to camp in the ruins of an old monastery.

Bella was shivering not from the cold this time, but from the ghostly feel of the place. It was eerie and she felt unseen eyes on her.

"Are you sure this is where we will sleep for the night?" she asked him for what seemed like the 100th time.

"My father and brothers are familiar with this place. We will let them know that we were here."

"So they'd know we were going to Saint-Kirk?"

"They already know we're headed that way, Bella, but I want to leave a sign to confirm it to them," he explained. "In two days we will reach the castle."

They had just eaten supper, courtesy of the tinker's wife who had insisted they take with them bread and cider, and Edward was stoking the small fire to last the night.

He turned to her to say something when they both heard it.

She didn't know how he did it, but Edward was up, broadsword in hand, and was dragging her behind his large body. Then he stood still, with her pinned against an old crumbly wall, her eyes shut tight.

She was afraid to breathe, to make even the slightest sound. He had managed to douse the fire but there was still smoke rising from it.

The silence was ominous.

A twig snapped behind her, to their left, and too near them! And before she could move another muscle, Edward swung his broadsword and her heart jumped to her throat when she heard it clash – a deadly sound in the silent dark - with another blade. He pressed her deeper against the rough wall and with both hands gripping the cross-shaped hilt, he raised it to hack through armor and bone.

"Edward! It is I!"

At the last possible second, he shifted the downward arc of his broadsword and the blade hit the wall above his opponent with a terrible clang.

The man's looming hulk blocked Bella's view.

"Damn it to bloody hell, Emmett! I could have killed you!"

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, brother," he scoffed, panting, lowering his broadsword. He saw her staring wide-eyed at him, and bowed. "My lady …"

Edward was still shielding her with his body and she placed her hand on his arm. Her own arm tingled and shook from the masculine power she felt from him, which was still pulsing with heat and suppressed violence.

He jerked when he felt her small hand on him, and finally, he moved aside.

She saw that there were five knights behind Emmett, all falling to their knees at sight of her.

"I am pleased to see you alive and well, Emmett of Kent," she said, her heart still thumping, but she couldn't quite contain her grateful smile at seeing him thus, still strong and burly. She wouldn't want any of Edward's family hurt because of her.

His brother signaled to the men to spread around the ruins and to stand guard. One of them re-lighted the fire and set up cooking for their own supper.

The Cullens huddled together and exchanged news. She sat quietly and slowly drank her cider.

"Forgive me, my lady, I nearly forgot. The queen mother sent these." He opened his satchel and produced a thick velvet-wrapped package and inside was letters from her mother and sister.

She quickly read these by the light of the fire, half of her ears tuning to the discussion between the brothers.

She smiled tearfully, reading the letters from her family. She missed them so much! She was glad that they were both safe under Kent's protection. "I know you will return to us, my child," her mother wrote. "I have great confidence in your escort and protector, and I know he would do everything in his power to bring you home, safely to us, for the kingdom."

Her sister's letter was more of mundane topics and she loved it, reminding her that there was still normalcy somewhere.

"I brought only five men to avoid attracting too much attention," Emmett told his brother.

"A wise decision, anyone who sees you will think you're rovers."

Bella listened to their discussion for almost half an hour until she couldn't keep up with them anymore and she bid them goodnight.

* * *

The next day, they rode to the last town before Saint-Kirk, about 10 miles from the castle.

Apparently, the plan was that she and Edward would stay in the town for a few days while Emmett and his men would ride ahead to the castle.

"Why?" she asked Edward, frowning.

"My father has yet to arrive at the castle, Bella." His tone was low. His brother had already moved away and wouldn't hear him. "There aren't enough men to protect you." And so they needed to wait for the duke's army before they journey on. She wasn't exactly protesting and in truth, she wanted more time with Edward alone, however unwise that wish was.

They were staying at a tavern. She was told that this was a big town and there were several taverns and inns.

"I will come back for you soon, my lady," said Emmett before he rode away.

Later that day, she found herself arguing with Edward. Again.

"I don't want you to leave me here, Edward. I want to come with you."

"This is a tavern and that means there are men and … their companions downstairs. I'd rather you're not exposed to them."

"What do you mean men and their companions?" she grit out. She refused to stay alone in their room and that was that.

Edward let out an impatient sigh and rubbed his jaw vigorously, she noted, in extreme annoyance with her.

"Don't make me say it," he said in a tired voice.

"You're taking me with you."

"No."

"Did you hear what I said? You're tak -"

"Whores," he said in a low voice. "The place is teeming with whores." She sucked in a breath and shut up, at last. "We would have stayed at an inn, but we know who owned this tavern and you'd be guarded here."

Bella swallowed and sat down on the cot. She watched him cross the room to the door, his strides long and powerful.

* * *

[One of Montgomerie's minions]

"What message you have, my lady?"

He watched her closely. Her face, always beautiful, had become gaunt and her skin a sickly pale.

"Well?" he snapped.

"Sir Emmett … he's going to … he's -" She stopped and sagged against the wall.

"Speak! Or my lord the duke would strike against your family where it would bring only more suffering for you!"

"Oh, God … f-forgive me for my sins," she sobbed, collapsing on the floor. "S-Saint-Kirk."

He cocked his head toward her in mocking obeisance.

"You've done well." And he barked out a leering laughter. "You must hate your husband's family to betray them so."

"N-no," she cried, lifting her tear-filled face. "D-don't kill him, I beg of you."

He looked down at her with no small amount of pity. Not mine to decide, he thought, staring at Lord Edward Cullen's wife.

* * *

*****a/n**

A chuisle – My darling

A ghra – My love/my darling


	23. My sin, my soul

Within a month of its release in 2005, Twilight by **Stephenie Meyer** was in the top 5 of The New York Times' YA bestsellers' list.

**Chapter21/My sin, my soul**

[Argyll]

He was nearly shaking with rage.

"Go on!" he bellowed.

"Spies have confirmed Montgomerie's treachery, my lord," his general, Agaston, reported. "We have killed the assassins he had sent."

And so the bastard had sealed his damned fate, he thought furiously. He forced himself to remain calm and breathed out harshly. He was going to kill him now.

Montgomerie's ambitions to the throne had become too dangerous to tolerate or manipulate. When they started this campaign, it was always understood that James was to take the crown while the old man would control half of the kingdom. He agreed to it because, in the end, he was still king and what was to stop him later from seizing the bastard's lands and gold?

It was bloody damned unfortunate, and inexplicable, that they failed to kill Isabella. He had punished his witch for her lies. It was she who had fed him with distorted tales and prediction of success with that damned arrow.

Victoria couldn't explain to him why the bewitched weapon did not kill the queen. He had nearly beaten her to death for her guile and deception. But days later, perhaps barely able to stand from his violence, she had run off and his spies confirmed she was with de Marseille. He couldn't care less who she was with but he was Argyll and he needed to extract his revenge. As soon as he had her uncle's head dangling from the end of his broadsword, he would hunt her, and her doomed lover, down.

As for Isabella, James slowly smiled.

He was a man of unlimited ambitions and desires. He was, above all, appreciative of opportunities. He nodded to himself and took a sip of his wine, all of a sudden feeling quite pleased with life. If he couldn't kill the queen then he would subdue her and own her.

There was more than one way to become king after all.

He would marry Isabella and thus declare himself the new ruler.

His smile grew wider, more sinister. He felt his arousal, envisioning her as his slave. He would imprison his queen for the rest of her life.

_Ah, Isabella_. You are as beautiful as my beloved Esme, he thought lovingly, longingly. He could still smell her flesh and even dead, she was exquisite ...

* * *

He had loved his Esme all his life and even after her death, he still worshipped her.

When his father the old duke died, the first thing James did was offer marriage to her but her sire had turned him down. He went to the king to pull rank against a mere baron but it was no use. Esme was to marry an earl, that spineless Brandon, and King Charles had approved of the union.

He was insanely jealous and was beside himself with rage. He couldn't accept that his Esme would wed an earl but reject him, a duke!

There was no other recourse and defeat was not a word he would ever tolerate. James took her then.

She was visiting a town near her home, called to heal a dying peasant. His Esme was always foolishly attached to her servants and those serfs. On her way back, he killed all her guards and abducted her.

For weeks he kept her hidden. He had tried to prove his love to her again and again but she was a cold woman and only laughed at him, mocking his devotion to her.

He couldn't quite recall what happened, but in a rage, he found his hands wrapped around her long, delicate neck and he was squeezing and squeezing, her fragile skin almost breaking.

She had never looked more beautiful to him in that moment. And mesmerized, he watched the life leave her pretty green eyes, whispering his love for her over and over again.

* * *

"Bring me Mullineaux," James instructed one of the knights. "I am sure that double-crossing snake is near."

He had gathered over 3,000 men and stormed Montgomerie's stronghold. The bastard's weaponry was above par, but he had cunning in his side and in the end, the traitor was defeated. But there was no time to gloat over his victory. They ride north, to Saint-Kirk, at dawn.

He crouched down, smiling at the dying man on the ground.

"It is over," he said softly, watching his rival bleed to death.

Montgomerie opened his mouth, tried to speak, but blood gushed out choking him.

"What is it old man?" James said solicitously, bending lower so he could hear him better. "You wish to say something to me?"

Montgomerie weakly stretched out his gnarled hand out to him and he caught the bony, white forelimb. For a moment, he was distracted by the old duke's ruby ring and with a nasty grin he removed the jewel from his pale finger and put it on his own. He briefly admired his new ring. He only looked down at the dying man again when he heard gurgling.

"Oh, yes, you were saying?"

Frozen black orbs stared up at him. James tilted his head to the side, waiting. The unblinking, stagnant eyes just looked flat.

The old man was finally dead.

Very good, he thought, and patted the corpse's cheek in approval. He unceremoniously dropped the cadaver's hand and he stood up, casually smoothing his tunic, the ruby on his finger winking.

Long live the king then.

_Me._

* * *

[Edward]

His brother returned to the tavern earlier than expected, which was the next evening. He met him at the back of the noisy pub.

"We leave tonight," Emmett said without preamble.

"What happened? What goes on the castle?" he asked.

"Nothing," his brother grumbled. "It is quiet up there. In fact _too_ quiet and I don't like it." He adjusted his bow and regarded him for a second. "Do you remember Old Man Bayard?" At Edward's nod, he added, "his cottage still stands. We'll take the queen there."

"Have you news from Father?"

"It is still the same, four or five days, at least."

It was difficult to move an army of 2,000 riding warriors across the country and he knew his father would make sure he would have enough men to lay siege even to a moated castle. Not that there was any plan for invasion, but a Cullen was always prepared for battle.

"I heard talk that a large squad of Argyll's men were spotted about two days' ride from here," he said, grim.

"That's to be expected. It's hard to conceal thousands of men on horses," his brother replied. It was all out and no longer a secret. By now, the queen's enemies knew his father's route, and while not the exact location, it was obvious enough that the direction was north.

"We need our own defense plan, brother, we cannot just lie in wait," he said, his tone was daunting.

"I will take care of it," said Emmett with equal foreboding.

If forced to arm men, they could easily round up 20 more from the village, about half of that number were archers with passable skill. They could certainly hit their target, but they were not trained warriors.

They quickly made arrangements to leave as soon as possible. He turned away to go back inside the tavern to inform the queen of the move when his brother stopped him.

"You only asked me about little Willie the last time, Edward," he said.

"And?" was his impatient reply.

He wanted to see Bella and the delay was chafing at him. She had slept alone in her room while he stayed out all night, guarding her. He had only a moment with her earlier, enough to let her know he was in the vicinity but that she would be by herself for most of the day. At the moment he only wanted to assure her, and immediately, of the next plan. He had left her this morning quite agitated and he didn't want her to worry anymore.

"Your wife was quite distraught when we told her about the ambush," said Emmett, watching him closely.

At that, Edward's facial expression dulled. He nodded at him and he couldn't hide the bleakness in his tone.

"She is well?"

"As well as can be."

"Mother is consoling her?"

"They are consoling each other."

"Good," he said curtly and left. And what else could he say to him? He thought, frowning. When this was all over, he would still come home to her, to the mother of his child.

* * *

Old Man Bayard's cottage was built on a small mountain or a hill overlooking the castle. From this vantage, one could see the castle and all around its perimeter however the cottage was quite invisible, hidden as it were by trees dotting the path.

Old Man Bayard was a Cullen, a distant Scottish relative. He was one of the men who built the castle over a hundred years ago. But once completed, the old folk said he refused to live there and decided to put up his own modest abode up in the hill.

They said the cottage was constructed to be as strong and as sturdy as the castle and it must be true. While the north tower of the castle had crumbled - destroyed by a great war - and leaving only the main hall and south tower intact, the cottage was still standing, proud and unyielding against even the most powerful of storms.

To get to the cottage, they traveled all night.

The men rode in horses while the queen, upon Edward's insistence, was boarded on a cart so she could be comfortable and sleep if she wanted to. She did sleep, briefly, but it was enough and he was satisfied that she was able to rest during the ride.

There was a small village near the castle but they passed this community quietly, careful not to attract the villagers' attention. The small cottage up the hill was quite isolated and it would be days before the villagers would even notice that it was occupied. By then, they would be gone.

The sun was up when they rounded the last uneven peak to reach the top of the hill, which was a flat clearing.

Bella was sleeping and he let her be.

The castle keepers have brought up two cows from the pens and he could see that they have constructed a small fenced enclosure with a crude thatched roof to contain the animals.

"Two cows? How long do you expect us to be here?" he asked Emmett.

He shrugged. "The queen needs milk." And then his brother gave him a sly smile, for he knew that if anyone was going to milk those cows, it would be him.

They both agreed that it would be safer if no one from the castle knew who was temporarily being housed in the cottage. Then he paused at a sudden thought. He realized that he didn't tell Bella that they would be quite alone in the cottage for at least a sennight.

With that thought, he strode inside the cottage and checked if provisions were sufficient enough for a week. He could certainly hunt for their meat, but he would rather stay close to the cottage.

There were no rooms inside the brick house. There was a big hearth at the center of one wall and in one corner, the oven and tables with provisions. A pantry was built on that side to store unperishable food and there was a door.

He avoided looking at the framed bed tucked in another corner, near the small window.

He turned to his brother. _He_ was staring at the bed, his face red.

Edward cleared his throat. "It seems everything is in order."

He braced himself, fully prepared to stay his ground if his prudent, scrupulous brother would again insist that he, Edward, should stay in the castle while other knights - other _men_ - would be posted here guarding the queen instead of him. He was fairly adamant about this. _No one _else but him was allowed to watch over her.

Emmett sighed, looking like a man who had lost an internal struggle within himself. He gave the bed one last glare and turned around.

Edward smiled when he heard his brother barking an order to bring up a straw mat.

* * *

[Bella]

A tweeting bird, so close to her ear, woke her up. She gazed up at the clear, blue sky and was momentarily confused. Did she sleep out in the open? The slight movement and neighing of a nearby horse gave her the first clue of where she was. The cart, she mused, where she rode in all night.

She slowly sat up and looked around. Kent's soldiers snapped to attention when they realized she was awake. They nodded their greeting at her and she nodded back, wondering where the brothers were. One of the men stepped forward, offering assistance. She gratefully accepted and she alighted from the cart.

To her right was the cottage Edward had told her about. It was small but charming, and she smiled.

There was smoke coming out of the chimney and she could smell almonds. She inhaled appreciatively and her stomach grumbled at the smell of food. She quickly strolled to the cottage and entered the open doorway.

Edward was inside, hammering at the window, fixing something. Emmett was bent over the hearth, mixing ingredients in a boiling kettle.

She delicately cleared her throat and Edward stopped his hammering at once.

"Good morning, my lady," he said.

"Good morning, Edward, Emmett," she greeted back. His brother merely grunted a mumbled "Good day" and she grinned at him, quite used to his grumpy ways by now.

He straightened up and bowed to her. "My lady, I bid you fare thee well, for now. We must be away and back to the castle."

"Oh, then … let me thank you for your escort and hospitality," she said, inclining her head graciously in gratitude.

Emmett flushed and to her amusement, Edward snorted. His brother glared at him and with a last bow to her, exited the cottage. Soon, she heard horses galloping away beyond the clearing and into the woods.

She stood still looking at the floor, for the sudden silence made her uncomfortably shy. This was the first time that they had been alone ... in a house. _Completely and entirely_ alone, she corrected herself, and she felt her face getting warmer. It was different in the forest when they were usually too tired to talk and would just drop to the ground at night to sleep.

Edward made a slight movement and she jumped. He smirked at her and she blushed.

"The food is ready," he said.

"It is?" she squeaked, and she blushed deeper because she sounded rather foolish. She cleared her throat. "What I meant was … that's good to know, thank you."

She walked over to the hearth and began ladling the stewed meat into wooden bowls. She placed these on the table and searched around for spoons. She found them on the mantel with the pewter cups and a pot of mead. She took the spoons and served the honey wine as well.

"Shall we eat?" she invited him, her manner stiff.

Edward nodded, still wearing that small smile. He sat down at the table and pushed a basket of flat bread to her side. She murmured her thanks and they ate in silence. He poured honey wine to her cup and she said "thank you" again.

"We'll stay here, at most, for five days," he said suddenly.

She nodded, eating her food slowly, head bent.

Silence.

"Do you … want milk?" he asked after a long while.

She closed her eyes for a moment and she shook her head, not looking up.

"What's wrong?" he said quietly.

She carefully placed the spoon on top of the bowl and lifted her eyes to him.

"Nothing is wrong," she said.

Edward leveled a stare at her and she gulped, looking down again.

"You are safe here. You need not worry about that."

"I know."

"Is something ailing you, then? Your shoulder?"

"It's healed, Edward," she muttered.

"Then what perturbs you, Bella?"

She thought about that for a moment, and then she sighed. She stared at her soup as if the bowl held the secrets to life. She just couldn't meet his eyes yet.

"I just want … I want the next days to be a simple, middling day-to-day."

Silence.

Bella finally looked up at him and saw his confused expression.

"I want to be common, like the village folk." She waved her hand around, indicating the humble surroundings. She tried to explain. "I've never been alone as much as I have been with you these past weeks. I've never been this self-sufficient."

"I see," he murmured, then, "what is it that you want to do?"

"Well," she pondered, "I want to prepare meals and cook and pick fruits … everything that has to do with ordinary house work."

She saw his mouth twitch and she hurried on, "I _can_ cook, I think. Dotty taught me." It was not that difficult to cook, she assured herself silently. She had observed the women in the village and all there was to it really was boiling and adding spices to flavor the meat.

"Er, I value my life too much to let you accidentally poison me, Bella," he said, his tone solemn but there was laughter in his green eyes.

Her own lips curved into a small smile. "What? Edward Cullen, fierce warrior, is unwilling to eat from my hands? Where has your blind obedience gone to, sir?"

Unable to contain himself anymore, he started laughing. She grinned at him, her heart lightening at the sight of his good-natured face.

She sipped at her cup with rather careful nonchalance. What she wanted more was to serve him as she knew women had been doing for their men. She wanted to cook for him, to wash his clothes, to mend his shirt, and to make sure a cup of ale was in front of him as soon as he sat down on the table after a long day.

She wanted to do these things for him more than she would ever admit, probably more than she'd ever realized until that very moment.

She would never have his love, never bear his children, but by God and His Heaven, she would have these few days with him as precious memories to carry into her old age.

"The first thing to do then," he said, still teasing, "is to milk the cow."

* * *

*****a/n**

Part 2 "The hunt" is closing, just three chapters left.

Part 3 is entitled "The fires of hell".

"My sin, my soul" – Vladimir Nabokov

Thank you for reading.

Titles/relations check -

1. The Montgomeries: The Duke of Montgomerie (deceased as of this chapter) had two sons. I didn't include it anymore but Argyll also killed these two sons. The next in line to the dukedom is Laurent de Marseille's senile father, Montgomerie's cousin.

2. The Mullineaux family: The Earl of Mullineaux and his wife, Margareth, have two children, Tanya and little Henry. The earldom is small and isolated and largely dependent on its neighbor, the Duke of Montgomerie.


	24. Pretty follies

**Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight was inspired by Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer's Night Dream and Merchant of Venice

**Chapter22/Pretty follies**

[Edward]

He watched her eyes widen and her hand fisting convulsively.

"Do they have names?" she asked, looking anywhere but at the cow.

"I'm sure she has."

"Do you know?"

"Mairta," he said. It wasn't the cow's name but it was bovine in Gaelic. He thought the mild name suits the cow since at the moment, she seemed cooperative. The last thing he wanted was to have the queen kicked by an irate animal. To be sure, he piled hay before "Mairta" and left her to munch away contentedly.

Bella gripped the pail's wooden handle in her hand and she sat, hesitantly, on the low stool near the cow's flank. She was staring fixedly at Mairta's bulging udder.

He squatted down beside her, and with a wet rag, he began to wash the udder, to Bella's extreme embarrassment.

"We have to clean it," he murmured, his face getting red, too, for there was something rather intimate to what he was doing.

He had milked cows before. They all did. All the Cullen men were not only warriors but they could plough the soil, do farming, assist in animal birthing, train horses, and knit their own bedding, too. Emmett was very good at it, he had knitted an entire blanket for little Willie.

But he had never touched a cow's udder and teat in the presence of a lady, and certainly never with the Queen of England watching every swipe of the cloth against the fat, hanging cow breast.

He pulled at the teat and looked at Bella. She was staring at his hand gripping the teat.

"You err, take this in your palm," he said, demonstrating. He positioned the pail where the milk would hit it. He looked at her, gauging her reaction, telling himself he would stop if she was as embarrassed as he was. She was focused on what he was doing so he went on.

Using thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the top of the teat until the whitish liquid streamed onto the pail.

They weren't looking at each other as he continued to pull two teats now, alternately milking the cow.

"Would you like to try it?" he said finally.

She nodded, still mute, a fascinated look on her expressive face.

He swallowed a laugh and showed her how to squeeze the teat.

She replaced his thumb and forefinger but then she hesitated, looking sideways at him, frowning. "How do I know the milk's gone?" Suddenly doubtful, she let go of the teat.

"Oh, err, the … uhm … teat becomes flaccid."

She gazed at him and just like that, instantly, he wanted to touch her. He wanted it so much he drew back. He had to or he was going to do something he would regret.

Clenching his jaw hard, he focused on her eyes. They looked impossibly darker and lighter at the same time. All the color of autumn – deep brown, yellow and gold - were in her eyes and he drowned in them.

"Flaccid?" she whispered.

"No," he said, his voice thick and urgent. _No_, my love, he thought, damning his soul to Hell. "Quite the opposite," he said huskily. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily.

"Are you unwell, Edward?"

He imagined her soft and compliant in his arms. He could see himself taking her small hand now and tugging, catching her off balance and pulling her against him when she fell.

"Edward?" she said, louder.

He sighed, a weary sound. A man was sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering.

"It's … it is hard … do you see?" His hand trembling, he captured a teat and lightly pulled at it. "You squeeze it until it … softens."

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him so innocently, without guile, that he felt the worst kind of lecher.

Bella gingerly pulled at the teat and before he could warn her of the angle of the trajection, she squeezed and the milk squirted directly in her eye. She yelped and jerked back, overturning the stool and she fell backwards.

He immediately dropped on his knees beside her and peered down on her pink face. "Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

She gasped and let out a long breath, and then she laughed. Full, snorting laughter quite unbecoming of a queen.

Edward stared. Some of the milk clung to her long eyelashes, framing her pretty brown eyes. He had spent many a night these past weeks, staring at the starry sky and seeing nothing but those eyes.

Her laughing had quiet down to giggling. He didn't realize he was still staring at her. She darted out her tongue and she licked a trickle of milk at the corner of her mouth.

If he wasn't the sort of man that he was, he would bend down and taste those soft lips, wet with milk. His lower lip would gently caress hers, and capture her soft bottom lip in between his, tasting it, lovingly biting tender flesh.

His head inched lower and stopped, his jaw clenched tight. If he could deny his own somber nature, he would carry her inside the cottage and make her his, and be damned for all eternity and be happy with it, so long as he has her by his side.

"Edward?"

He snapped to attention. She was looking up at him, smiling. He straightened and rocked on his heels for a moment then he stood up and reached down and helped her up.

He let out a long exhale of regret, before saying, "Do you want to try again?"

She smiled brighter and gamely sat down on the stool.

* * *

It took the rest of the afternoon and two cows, but she finally produced a half pail of milk without making a mess of it.

Bella proudly presented him with the precious cup of milk. He told her she has to do the milking every day now or the poor cows would burst. She promised she would make a daily chore out of it.

That evening, she cooked her first stew. One of the Kent men hunted this morning and provided them with fresh meat for the day.

There were vegetables pickled in brine and dried fruits, bread and cheeses, and salted pork. But for this evening, Bella was cooking.

He stayed out of her way mainly because he was avoiding getting burned, or being delegated as taster. Also, while she was always clean and neat, the queen was an adoringly untidy, rumbled and peevish cook. Her grumpy manner was only making him laugh so he let her be, wisely.

He was outside, checking the horses and few livestock, looking out at the castle grounds below, when she called him in for supper.

With much trepidation, he sat down at the table. He looked at the hearth and briefly closed his eyes at what appeared to be a destruction of the small kitchen. Dirty pots, unevenly sliced vegetables, scattered herbs and spices, and spilled cider.

He sighed. Washing pots and kettles, cleaning other people's mess, wasn't his favorite thing to do.

"Eat!" she said cheerfully, placing a bowl of stewed meat and vegetables before him.

He leaned forward, gave the yellow thick liquid a suspicious eye, and took an experimental whiff of the dish. He wrinkled his nose. It smelled edible, at least.

Bella was standing by his side, eyes glued on him, and an expectant smile on her face. So, bravely, he plunged in. He took a spoonful of the surprisingly tender meat - he was prepared to launch a war against tough meat using his sharp teeth – and he bit and chewed.

Eyes popping wide he coughed, spit the meat out of his burning mouth and blindly reached for his cup of mead, hastily downing the wine.

Bella poured more wine to his cup and he gulped that too, wheezing, his eyes tearing.

_Oh, God and Mary Mother!_ I have been poisoned, he thought, panicking.

"Edward! Oh, Edward! Was it that awful?" she cried, gripping his hand, pumping it as if trying to revive him.

He looked up at her finally and his sharp words of rebuke died on his tongue. She was hovering over him, her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with pain and embarrassment. And then she burst into tears.

Alarmed, he stood up and before he could do anything else, she flung her arms around him and wept.

"I just …j-just want to cook for you," she sobbed.

For him? The queen wanted to cook … _for him?_

Edward wrapped his own arms around her and tried to console her.

It wasn't that bad, he supposed. It only tasted too strong, the flavor too stark and undiluted that it could have stunned a live horse. And an ox … or two.

"Hush, _a chuisle_, hush now," he murmured against her hair. "You can try again." And mindless with self-reproach for he could just have manfully swallowed the offending food, he kissed the top of her head.

He froze.

She stopped crying.

They both didn't move.

When he had to breathe or die, he inhaled, exhaled, and muttered, "Forgive me." To his guilty mind, it didn't sound like he meant it.

Bella nodded her acceptance of his apology. But they remained embraced, both too shy and unwilling to acknowledge that they were, in actual fact, in each other's arms.

Finally, he cleared his throat and dropped his arms. He stepped away and gazed at a spot above her head.

"Do … do you want bread and cheese?" she asked softly, nervously. _She_ was looking at the table.

"I'll get it," he said.

"No! Let me," she insisted.

He sat down again and avoided looking at the bowl of stew. When she turned around to get the bread and cheese, he quickly pushed the bowl to the side and poured mead to his and her cup until brimming.

They ate slowly, timidly, and in awkward silence.

When they had finished eating, they cleared the table quickly.

Edward looked at her, her back to him. She was cleaning the hearth. He wanted to tell her that he was, again, very sorry for his boorish behavior and for the … kiss … but he couldn't quite say the words. He decided to leave her alone for awhile and he went outside.

* * *

The waxing moon was nearly its full strength this evening. Another two or three nights and it would be the harvest moon.

Edward sat on a large rock and gazed up at the star-blanketed night sky, with the moon at its inevitable center.

He heard the soft crunch of grass and scattered earth, and he smiled.

"I still am not certain if you have poisoned me or not," he said without turning around to face her, his voice lazily teasing.

She gave out an indelicate snort and he looked at her, grinning. She rolled her eyes. "I used a _little_ bit more of cardamom and … alright I admit it had too much saffron and peppercorns but you'll live."

To his surprise, she sat on the grass, stretched, and lay down. She folded her hands primly on her stomach, and stared up at the sky.

"Do you need your cloak?"

"No, thank you."

She seemed reckless tonight, he mused. But recklessness was contagious and begets more recklessness.

"May I join you?" he said quietly.

With the bright moon shining directly on them, he could see her face well enough. She just looked at him archly and said, "My kingdom is your kingdom."

This time it was he who let out a snort. He plopped down on the ground beside her and slipped his hands behind his head.

This was strange, he thought, lying there, extremely relaxed. He didn't feel awkward at all. He felt as if he had spent half of his life watching the full moon with her lying beside him.

"You have been taught the _Almagest_?"

"Yes, my alchemist teacher was well versed in Greek philosophy."

"According to Ptolemy, the moon circles the land and sometimes the moon is closer to the earth and sometimes farther away."

"And?"

"He could predict where each planet in the sky will be at some time in the future. That is how he could tell the day and time, how ships navigate in the sea. By doing this, he claimed he could foretell events that will happen, based on the movement of the moon."

"The moon is the woman to the sun's man," she said softly. He turned to look at her. Her eyes remained glued skyward. "The moon is the wet, the sun is dry. As the queen and king of the sky, the moon and the sun are the time-keepers and it is man's goal to conquer time."

"You're like the moon, the goddess," he murmured.

"It is the Mother Mary that is standing over the moon," she said solemnly, but she gave him a sideways smile.

"The Mother Mary, holy being that she is, is pure and untouched. You just said the moon is the woman and the sun is man. They need each other, to make night and day," he lightly argued.

"Thinking that the moon is the goddess is so pagan," she replied. "It's witchcraft."

Before he could retort or say something, he heard her.

_Ilyatari isil…_

He focused on the voice and he felt his mind reaching forward, beyond his surroundings.

"_Eelya taaree … Eesil_," he whispered, imitating the voice.

He had heard that female voice before, in his dreams. He had been hearing that voice since he was a child. He couldn't remember all the strange words, but he would never forget that kind, comforting voice.

He vaguely heard Bella speaking, but she seemed far away.

_Edward … _

"Edward?"

_Eadbhard… Aiya laita …_

"_I ya lie ta _…"

"What is that?"

Startled by her hand waving suddenly in his direction, he jerked to attention.

"I don't know. I hear it in my dreams," he said softly, a little dazed.

"It's not Gaelic?"

He shook his head.

"Who was saying it, then?" Bella asked, frowning.

"A woman … she calls me …" He stopped, echoing her frown.

"What? She calls you what?"

He stared at the moon, remembering the woman's ethereal voice in his sleep. It had been years since he had heard her in his head while he was awake.

A shudder started from the base of his spine and crawled all the way up to the top of his head.

_Aiya laita …_

He suddenly stood up and was about to reach down to pull her up too when he stopped, remembering who she was.

"It's getting cold, let us go inside."

He stretched out his hand to her and, looking up at him oddly, she took it.

* * *

[Bella]

The next three days were the happiest of her life. And in those three days, her love for Edward grew and grew.

Every morning she would wake up early and cook for him. Not much cooking really, for she found out that this man had simple needs. Boil barley, serve it hot with honey and it would put the sweetest smile on his face.

And while his barley was boiling away she would milk Mairta and Spotty, as she had been calling the other cow. It wasn't as pretty as Mairta's name, but the cow _did_ have a lot of black and brown spots on its hide. She was still terrible at it, and she tried not to waste too much milk, but it always made Edward smile whenever she would bring home the milk.

This life was perfect. The cottage was perfect. _He_ was perfect.

She made an effort not to think of what was coming because she would have enough time to worry about _that_ later.

Forgetting about the world beyond their peaceful hill, she set about honing her cooking skills. There weren't fresh meat so they ate mostly pit-roasted and dried pork, pickled vegetables and dried fruits.

At night they would walk outside, gaze at the stars and talk about mundane things. They never talked about the affairs of the kingdom, or about the war.

"Do you think I will be a good queen?" she asked one night. They were sprawled companionably on the soft grass, looking up at the night sky.

"You already _are_ a good queen, Bella."

"Sometimes, I wish …" She stopped, unsure if she wanted to reveal her deepest wish. He raised his brow at her, and she continued. "I wish I had a choice."

"And what would that be?"

"Well … I don't know exactly." That wasn't really true.

_I would choose you_, she thought. To have you, to be with you, to love all of you, always, until the day I take my last breath.

He gave out a short laugh and he ruffled the hair on the top of her head. Since the night he had kissed her – and she would still blush a deep, deep red whenever she would recall it – it seemed to have broken a barrier between them.

He didn't kiss her again, to her immense disappointment, but he would on occasion, lightly touch her, mostly her hair. He seemed drawn to it and would often tug at it playfully, or dishevel it for some reason. She had taken to wearing it unbound. He seemed to like it more when her ordinary brown locks were cascading down her back.

"A waste of an opportunity, then, if you were given a chance and you do not take advantage of it," he teased.

"What about you?" she challenged. "Don't you wish you have that chance, too?"

"I had, and I have chosen."

"No, you didn't. You were given this life, Edward."

He sat up suddenly and leaned toward her. Under the moonlight she saw his green eyes burning with intensity.

"This isn't about me, Bella. My life is set. You, on the other hand, will always have that choice." He sat back and rested his hands on his bent knees. She could feel his entire body radiating tension.

She let out a long breath. She didn't think this kind of conversation would have a happy ending. She, a queen and diplomat that she was, decided to change the subject.

* * *

"No." She just barely managed to get that one word out.

"Your fear of horses is unreasonable, Bella. Let me help you." He was leaning against the fence of the cow pen, crossing his arms.

"You can, but you won't," she muttered, pulling a little too hard on Mairta's teat. The cow mooed reproachfully at her and she immediately patted her flank in apology. When the pail was half full, she picked it up and walked back to the cottage.

"Don't you trust me?" he said, his voice soft. He was closely following behind, trying to retrieve the pail from her. She held on to it.

"I won't even answer that, Edward," she grit out. _Obviously_ she trusted him, or why was she even here?

"Just give me two hours and I promise you, your opinion of horses and riding will change," he said confidently.

She dropped the pail on the table and looked at him. When Edward wanted something he didn't stop until he had it in his grasp, she thought, grumbling.

"Fine. You have two hours and if you," she threatened, "let me fall off the horse and break my leg, I will … I will …"

And then, damned him, he started laughing.

"Yes, you will have me drawn and quartered," he said cheerfully.

After breakfast, Bella found herself outside and she was facing a new horse.

"Who's this?"

"Emmett's."

"He's too large and … and brute-looking for me!"

"Lesson number one, Bella, you can ride any horse, tall or short, temperamental or sedate, once you know how to handle them."

He reached for her and, grasping her waist, hoisted her on top of the big black. She quickly grabbed the reins with both hands but he shook his head.

"For now, you can hold the reins, but hold it in one hand." She did as instructed. This was all familiar to her of course. She had been taught to ride horses since she was a child. She knew how to handle a horse, she just prefer not to. She had been trained to control and guide a horse using bit reining but Edward prefer not using hands at all. He was all about steering the horse using the legs.

For an hour and a half, he grilled her into the proper use of reins and how to squeeze her legs to guide the horse. It wasn't so much as squeezing, but using her foot to slide and put pressure to the horse's side.

"It's not my fault!" she whined, when her squeezing and foot sliding weren't yielding the desired results. "This horse is not cooperating," she insisted.

Edward sighed, and before she realized what we was planning to do, he had swung up and was behind her in an instant. The feel of his warm, solid body had the effect of immobilizing her.

They had ridden like this before, many times. But she was ill and barely conscious of her surroundings all those times.

This time it was different. This time, she felt every muscle and bone in his body, flushed so intimately against her back.

He was completely oblivious of his effect on her. He lifted her up by grasping her waist and settled her back down so she was half sitting on his lap. She swallowed convulsively, feeling dizzy.

He nudged her leg and placed his underneath hers, the better to show her how and when to put pressure on the beast's side.

"There, do you see?" he said, intent on what he was doing. He lightly touched her leg and demonstrated how to steer properly.

By the time he was done, her face was so hot she was near succumbing to a fainting spell.

_Oh, dear God. _

He didn't even know what he was doing to me, she thought, staring forward and glaring between the horse's ears.

The horse suddenly moved forward and she yelped.

"Just hold on," he said, his lips in her ear.

Edward led the horse to a walk and then a trot. The horse's gait was powerful and she tried to hold on to his arm around her waist since she was without reins.

She gripped his arm tight and with every bumpy trot, she was pushed against his front until she was practically sitting on his lap.

She heard him suck in his breath, his arm tightening around her. He slowed the horse's run to an even trot then finally, they stopped. They were in the middle of a clearing and behind them was the cottage.

He was silent for so long that she had to turn her face up to him. She opened her mouth to say something but no sound came out. He gave her a confused look, his eyes dropping to her mouth. The moment was so staggeringly painful. She didn't know what to do but stare at him.

"Bella," he breathed. The taut arm around her waist pulled her closer to him.

The look in his eyes was so sad and shattered that it nearly broke her heart. In that moment, she knew there was a connection between them, a bond that had been there since the first campsite. She knew what it was, for she loved him. But she didn't know what he thought of her and she wished she knew what was on his mind.

"We … better go back," he said grimly, closing his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to look at her anymore.

She looked away and didn't turn around again. She didn't say anything.

* * *

On the fifth day, she woke up and found Edward outside. He was standing near the edge of the clearing, looking out below, at the castle grounds.

She went to him and when she saw what he was looking at, she wanted to cry and lock herself inside the cottage. She must have made a distressed sound for he turned and regarded her in silence, his face inscrutable.

"My Father has arrived."

* * *

*****a/n**

"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see … The pretty follies that themselves commit." – The Merchant of Venice (Billy Shakes)

Elvish translations:

Aiya – As a greeting, "Hail"

Laita – Bless or "Bless you"

Ilyatari Isil – Queen of all/Queen of the Moon

Gaelic:

A chuisle – My darling


	25. The promise

**Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight.

**Chapter23/The promise**

[Edward]

Emmett and his squad arrived at the cottage within the day.

The queen stood silently watching the castle grounds below while men gathered up their belongings. She had been quiet since breakfast. Twice, he thought she was about to say something to him but she would hesitate, give him a look akin to confusion.

Edward didn't know how to react. Should he say something? What could he say? What more could have been said? The idyllic time was over. War has come.

"Montgomerie's dead," said Emmett in a clearly unsatisfied tone. He too was watching the queen.

Edward turned to him, one brow raised.

"It's not by Father's hand, unfortunately," his brother clarified.

"Unfortunately," he agreed.

It was Argyll then, which was not a surprise. It came at no great shock as well, that the bastard's army was but two days away from Saint-Kirk. That meant they had to leave immediately.

It was time to go.

He approached the queen and stood five steps behind her, a respectful distance. He waited for her to acknowledge his presence. He stood there, silent, for five minutes.

He looked around to check if anyone was within hearing distance. They were quite alone or as alone as they could be with 15 men milling around the clearing.

"We have to leave now, Bella," he said softly.

She let out a deep sigh, still not turning to face him. "Your father brought so many men."

"Still not enough," he muttered. "Montgomerie is dead."

She stiffened. Montgomerie was a traitor, a murderer and he was behind the king's assassination. He was also Bella's uncle. He continued, "Argyll killed him."

She finally turned to him. He didn't like what he saw in her face at that moment. It was bleak, hopeless. "I am next."

"That will never happen," he said, impatiently.

"He'll be here soon."

"And he'll be dead soon."

She glared at him and walked away, briskly, away from the men and the clearing. Edward saw his brother start to follow the queen but he signaled for him to stay put. They didn't have time to dilly-dally but still, he shadowed her steps. She was in some mood that he had never seen in her before.

She walked into the trees until they emerged to another clearing overlooking the vast Scottish lands below. He stood rooted to his spot when she walked further into the center of the small clearing and stopped.

Slowly, she faced him. She was as still as him, the wind gaining strength as it swirled around her, stirring her long, unbound hair and her overcoat.

"Listen to me, Edward Cullen of Kent," she said softly, solemnly. Thus addressed so formally, he bowed, waiting. He knew whatever was coming was an order from his monarch.

"I will require no heroics from you, Kent."

He straightened up at that and caught his sigh of exasperation to himself. He had heard this from her before, and so God helped him, if she tried to send him away again, he would tie her to a chair if that was what it would take to protect her.

"One of us will survive this," she said. When he opened his mouth to speak, to say that he would damn well make sure it was her, she raised her palm up to silence him. He shut his mouth.

"You will put my sister to the throne should I fall," she said, her voice strong and firm. "Swear it to me now, Kent. You will do all in your power to ensure Angela is crowned queen."

He stared fixedly at her. There was no other sound in the small clearing but the faint howling of the winds.

Slowly, he drew his sword and the hiss of the blade being freed from its scabbard was an echo of his promise, strength, and devotion to her. He struck the broad tip of the blade to the ground and knelt on one knee before England and the woman he loved, for she was his all.

"It will be done, my queen."

* * *

[Carlisle]

Argyll killed not only Montgomerie, but his two sons, eliminating the threat of succession. He knew this would either make or break the kingdom since the morale boost to Argyll's allies would be significant.

He regretted not killing Montgomerie himself but his kin, that horse's ass de Marseille, still lived and it would be up to him or his sons to end the life of this miserable excuse of a noble. And, of course, there was still Argyll.

Kent barked orders to prepare for their departure the next day. All this traveling had made his men frenzied and raring for battle. The end of the war was in the air, they could all sense it.

He waited impatiently for the queen's arrival. He had sent his son, Emmett, to fetch Isabella. He was looking forward to seeing his heir soon, too.

They all had to make haste their journey back to London for the claimant to the throne might be emboldened enough to declare himself king at any moment.

He was assured at least, that Argyll has not taken main London town and he knew the kingdom could never be divided. As long as London was the queen's seat of power, England was hers and the nobles would not acknowledge Argyll as sovereign, even if he had proven his strength by killing the powerful Duke of Montgomerie.

Still, Carlisle was not comfortable with the situation for the way he saw it, it was a draw and if they were not vigilant and cunning, Argyll could emerge the victor.

He had plans, he was prepared. He would execute these plans as soon he has conferred with his sons, especially Edward.

* * *

[Edward]

"You look like hell, Father," he said without preamble. They were in the long hall of the dilapidated castle. The keepers did their best to clean house, but while the stronghold would likely be around for a hundred years more, the inside interior was sadly begrimed with years of filth, certainly not fit for the queen.

His father had just spent an hour with Bella, going over the routes and plans for her return to London. All the local nobles of the towns were at the castle, some brought their wives. He felt relieved when he saw the women. They were now attending the queen in her chambers. They would at least distract her until their departure.

Carlisle rubbed his face tiredly. "Son, do me a favor. Tell me something, now, to end this blasted war, for I am sorely missing your mother."

Edward glanced sharply at the duke. The Carlisle he knew would never admit to such weakness, not to mention a longing for his absent wife. The war has raged on for far longer than anyone of them had anticipated. However unlike his father, he was in no hurry to go home and for that, he felt wretched.

Before he could reply – and in truth what could he say to his father – Emmett coughed meaningfully and they all looked up. Sir Alistair Leoncorte and his daughter, the aptly named Sigourney, were standing behind Edward and his father.

"Ah, Leoncorte, I trust you have acquainted your daughter with the queen's wardrobe?" said Carlisle, indicating that both should join them at the table.

Both Edward and Emmett stood up and offered Sigourney a seat. She gracefully sat down and the brothers did the same.

Edward already has an idea why Sigourney was brought to Saint-Kirk. She was no stranger to the family and many times in the past, had visited Kent to train in sword fighting along with the three younger Cullens. She was small to look at, dainty even, but she could fight like a conquering warrior.

"She's been invited to have supper in the queen's chambers this eve," said Leoncorte. "Not much time to learn her mannerisms, but Sigourney can do it."

Carlisle looked at his eldest son and raised his brow. "As you already know, Mistress Sigourney here has agreed to be the queen's decoy."

Sigourney blushed, pleased with her important task, and gave him a shy sideways glance. Edward nodded his approval.

It was an excellent plan but there was more to be discussed and he needed to clear a few things. As they threshed out the plan, it was decided that Sigourney as "the queen" would ride first with the bulk of the men-at-arms while a smaller group would guard Bella, but this squad would still be part of the riding army.

The plan was solid, except for one thing and while he realized the wisdom behind the plan, he was reluctant to give it a final go.

Bella would be disguised as a young page and she would be riding with Emmett, Leoncorte and Sir Garett. He, as the head of the queen's guards, would have to ride with Sigourney to keep up pretenses.

He hated this part of the plan, especially because he knew there was no use arguing. He couldn't ride alongside Bella. As soon as Argyll located him, he would know the queen would not be too far.

"Prepare the queen, Edward," his father said, concluding the meeting. "We leave at dawn."

* * *

[Bella]

It seemed to her as if she had been waiting for him for a long time, and when he did finally came to her, she had nothing to say to him.

They arrived at the castle at mid-noon and soon as her feet were on the ground, the Duke of Kent ushered her inside and the briefing commenced. She understood the urgency. There was no more time alone with Edward and especially not right now, when she was surrounded by the wives of her loyal subjects.

The women were all a-twitter, flustered and nervous by her unexpected presence in this remote fief. It didn't seem to matter that she didn't speak Gaelic. Expressions of "We're so honored you're here," and "Will you accept this token ..." needed no translations. To all their smiles and pronouncements in the lovely old language, she simply nodded her head and returned their smiles.

"Have you written all their names, Breton?" She turned to one of the squires that came with Carlisle's army. The young man was from Kent, the son of a knight, and was fortunately not only fluent in Gaelic, but could also write both in the Scots and English language. It was this skill, more than his arms-bearing training, that earned him the next stage to knighthood.

"Och, aye, me lady," he croaked. The poor lad was sweating, obviously not used to being surrounded by so many women.

The sudden appearance of Kent's heir had the effect of hushing the excited giggling and chirping in the room. An admiring, awed silence was the same in all women too, regardless of language, spoken or not.

Edward, confronted by staring women, cleared his throat. "My apologies, your grace, for this interruption," he intoned, very formal. He bowed to her and to the ladies. "_Feasgar math_."

The women responded the same to his greeting and everyone, Bella noted with narrowed eyes, were quite pink-faced and the room's level of buoyancy seemed to have gone up a notch.

And then Bella caught herself staring, too. She roused herself enough to turn to Breton, the biligual squire. "Translate for me," she ordered. Giving Edward, who was now patiently standing near the door a nod, she addressed the women. She thanked them for their graciousness and requested for their return during supper tonight.

Soon, the receiving chamber was emptied of chattering women and there was only her and Edward.

"Close the door," she said, letting out a long sigh and slouched deep in her chair. She had been sitting rather stiffly the past hour.

"That's not allowed, my lady," he said, but he was smiling.

She sighed. "We leave on the morrow and I'm likely never to meet these enthusiastic but gentle women again. So sir, be kind, and _close the door_."

He rivaled her deep sigh and moved to shut the massive double doors, finally.

She hid a smile of satisfaction and then she felt shamed by her obvious delight at his discomfort. She couldn't help but feel accomplished somehow whenever she was making Edward do things he didn't like to do, especially if these things were opposed to his prudent upbringing. She musn't bedevil the man anymore. They had so little time and soon, they would part ways.

"Sigourney tells me that you grew up together," she said, surprised to hear a hint of jealousy in her tone.

Edward had walked near the windows. "Yes. I have known her for a long time."

"You will protect her, Edward? I don't want her harmed for impersonating me."

"I will protect her as if she was you," he said.

It was that familiar tone of his voice - that soft, intimate voice that always made her face bloomed red. It momentarily distracted her from what she was thinking, what she has to ask him to do.

She stood up and forcibly shook herself. This has to be done.

"Edward, I want you to cut my hair."

"You want me to what?"

"If I'm to ride as a boy, I must look like a boy," she said firmly.

"Ruin your beau -" He stopped abruptly and now his own face was flushed.

"You very well know I have to do this," she said. She indicated the small and bent blades called scissor daggers on the table near the hearth. Without waiting for his agreement, she dragged a tall stool and sat where the light was brightest in the room, near the big windows. Her hair was already unbound.

She stared outside, where men were camped. The higher-ranked officers and all of the nobles were inside the castle but the majority of the men-at-arms and archers would be sleeping under the stars tonight.

She didn't turn around when she heard his hesitant movement. She gulped nervously when she heard him lift the scissors and test it for its sharpness. She almost jumped when she heard him speak. She didn't hear his approach.

"Are you certain you want me to do this?"

"Yes," she whispered, suddenly teary-eyed.

_Don't be ridiculous, Bella!_ She chided herself. _It's only hair. It will grow back._

Her hair was very long, past her waist. It was mostly straight but some strands tend to curl and if left uncombed, she knew she looked rumpled.

She sat very still and waited. She worried that Edward would just hack off chunks of her hair but she never even considered one of the wives for this task.

Gently, carefully, she felt his hand smooth her hair, from the top of her head to the small of her back. She couldn't quite contain her shudder, and for a wild moment, she thought he was _smelling_ her hair. She frowned at her silliness and forced herself to sit motionless, face forward.

Why would he want to smell her hair? The last time she washed her hair was the night before but she was fairly certain that her mane of dark brown locks were clean and still shiny.

His hands parted her hair and she heard the first snip of the scissors. Her deep intake of breath seemed to be echoed behind her and she realized that he too was holding his breath. More snips and with each cut, her head felt lighter, unencumbered, freer.

She closed her eyes when his hand lightly rubbed her nape, as if she was a horse and he was trying to calm her. She made an effort to relax and commanded her muscles to untighten and submit to his soothing touch.

She swayed and sighed, biting her lip to stop a little moan from escaping. She opened her eyes and was stunned by her actions. She forced her body to still.

When her heart has stopped its erratic beating, her hearing cleared. She only heard silence.

He had finished cutting her hair and she didn't even noticed it. He was just standing there, behind her, barely breathing.

Slowly, she raised a hand and placed it on the top of her head. She smoothed her hand down, holding her own breath and stopped just above her shoulders.

Edward had cut her hair short, like a page. She had mixed feelings when her hand touched skin instead of hair. She straightened up and felt the cold air brush the back of her neck. She shivered involuntarily.

She swiveled around in her stool and looked down. Edward was standing close but he didn't utter one word.

"Do I pass as a boy now?" she asked, her eyes still lowered. She felt shy, as if she was sitting naked before him.

"Only an idiot would ever mistake you to be a boy."

He surprised a laugh out of her and she looked at him at last. Suddenly feeling elated and adventurous, she jumped up and strode across the room. She opened the connecting doors to her bedchamber and beckoned him to follow.

There was only one mirror in the castle and it was attached to the huge room's armoire. She slid the heavy wood open and stood still.

He was right. She didn't look like a boy, despite the short hair. But she felt different. She tipped her head to one side and stared at her pale face. She viewed all her angles, frowning, and then she knew who she looked like.

"Georgie," she said sadly. Her brother had this same exact length of hair before he ... when he died.

"Bella -" Edward started to say, "I promise you, I will not let them take you."

"Not at the expense of your life, Edward," she said. To her horror she felt tears roll down her cheeks.

"My life is not important. Only your survival is important."

She smiled at him through gritted teeth. She could never tolerate to hear him so casually refer to his own death.

"Your life is precious to me," she whispered.

She saw that he was about to say something but abruptly stopped as soon as her words were out of her mouth. He watched her intently and in his eyes, she could see him struggle with himself, trying to deny the meaning behind her words.

"You ... you are always gracious as a queen, Bella. You care about your subjects," he said slowly, as if testing the truth behind his reasoning. He couldn't quite meet her eyes and he looked around with a blank expression on his face, hiding his thoughts from her.

_Fool,_ she thought. _One day I will tell you I love you and you better believe it!_

Briefly, madly, she thought about signing this declaration into law for the whole kingdom to know.

_And what will you do with his wife? You do remember his wife, don't you?_ An insiduous voice inside her chose that moment to speak up.

She sighed. She sat on a long bench and waited until both of them was comfortable again. The bedchamber was clean but the furnishings were shabby. It looked as if this room hadn't been occupied for at least two decades.

There was a scuffling noise by the door and they both turned, gratefully, at the sound. Breton was staring wide-eyed at his short-haired queen.

"Yes?" she said, eager for a distraction.

For a moment, it seemed the boy was incapable of speech.

"Och, err, me lady? Ye, uhm -" he stammered.

"Out with it, lad," said Edward, mildy irritable.

But the boy just stared, mouth falling open.

* * *

[Victoria]

The night has finally come, what she had been waiting for days.

A full moon.

She took the small bowl of water and flower from the altar. She took the flower and sprinkled the ground with the water clinging from the petals. She created a circle, chanting.

"From water I am born, with water I am sated.

This eve, _tempus vernum_, I create a pool of sacred circle and hear my summons!"

Victoria faced each direction as she spoke, lighting the candles she has placed on the ground.

"_Senterio_, I call to the north, realm of earth. Be here this night.

_Oriens_, I call to the east, realm of air. Be here this night.

_Meridians_, I call to the south, realm of fire. Be here this night.

_Occidens_, I call to the west, realm of water. Be here this night."

She smiled as she felt the spirits stir the air around her.

_Yes, I bid you welcome. Hear me, hear me. Make him mine._

"I call to Nepture, Poseidon.

I call to Boann, Aphrodite.

Tonight I ask your blessings on this water. May it hold power for my ritual this night."

Victoria started to sing and chant. "Listen to the voice. The voice of the water. Calling you and me." And with heartfelt intent, she stated her wants, and called _his_ name.

She extinguished the candles and chanted her farewell to deity.

And still, she called his name.

This wasn't part of the ritual but she took her knife and drew a thin, shallow line across the soft flesh of her palm.

_I bleed for you, Edward, and there be no more failure. For I shed my blood for you for the last time, my love._

* * *

In the middle of the night, Argyll summoned her. It was a good thing Laurent has left the manor and did not stay the night.

Her husband's men insolently knocked on her door, disturbing the whole household. And they told her what she already knew.

That bastard has declared himself king.

* * *

[Alice]

"Power of light, cast out darkness.

Set to flight things unwanted that hinder me.

This is my will; so mote it be."

She brought her chanting to a close and did her grounding, signaling to spirits that she was ending the enchantment of her circle.

That's done, she thought.

She was about to extinguish her ritual candles when the hair at the back of her neck prickled and she felt the telling tingles on the top of her head.

Without warning, she felt a horrible pain in her abdomen and she fell on her knees, clutching her burning middle. She moaned and cried, and squeezed her eyes shut, but the visions still came.

What she was seeing in her mind's eye was so frightening, so terrifying that she screamed and screamed until she was hoarse.

It was Edward. He was in danger.

_Help him._

Oh, God, the pain. Stop this pain. She felt as if she was being split in two.

_Go to Edward, daughter. _

Through the haze of pain, she still saw him, heard his roar of anguish and formidable rage.

Breathing hard, she bit out. "How, Mother? How can I help him?"

_Help your brother._

"W-what?"

* * *

*****a/n**

Feasgar math – Good afternoon


	26. A fool's war

Still **Stephenie Meyer's. **Cannot wait to see Robert Pattinson's three up-coming films Bel Ami, Water for Elephants and Unbound Captives (especially this one, I liked the storyline and will just love to see him as a Comanche)

**Chapter24/A fool's war**

[Bella]

The sight of thousands of warriors armed to their teeth, intimidating astride powerful steeds would always overwhelm and stagger her senses. Armored men ready to face death served as a reminder of what she was to her people and at the same time, make her wish she could retreat to a hole on the ground and never come up again.

She took gulps of air and looked around, her eyes desperately searched for him. She felt her lungs constricting and she couldn't seem to take in enough air.

She heard a male voice … Emmett? He was inquiring, or asking her permission, she wasn't sure. He was crouching low, hands poised to hoist her up the imposing destrier.

She froze, her spine stiffening with the familiar fear. She took a deep breath and forgot to let it go.

"Where's Edward?" she gasped. She took a step back and would have fallen on her arse if not for the arm that shot out to steady her from behind. She bumped the back of her head on someone's chin and she heard a grunt of pain. She knew that grunt and this time she let out a sigh of relief.

"Where were you?" she said faintly, not turning around. She leaned against him.

Emmett was standing close enough to have heard her. He glanced sharply at the man behind her, and lifted a brow. He must have seen something that he didn't approve of and he turned away, scowling. He didn't move an inch, though, and could still hear their conversation.

She didn't care anymore.

"I ride with you," she whispered.

"No, you will ride with Emmett," was Edward's terse reply.

His brother snorted, still resolutely facing away.

"I want you!" she hissed.

"Fine, I'll give you my horse then," he bit back, low voiced.

"I want _you_ not your damned horse!" she gritted.

"My lady -"

"Is something amiss, my liege?"

Edward let go of her arm suddenly, as if she was live coal. She looked up at Lord Kent, sitting nonchalantly on a big black, a polite smile on his face. His eyes slid to his eldest son and there was a question in them.

She forced an answering smile and looked to Edward meaningfully. Thus put on the spot – and he very well couldn't glare at her in front of his father - he said, "the queen is of a mind to ride with me, Father."

Lord Kent frowned.

Emmett took advantage of the brief pause. "Apologies, my lady, but my brother will likely have a hundred arrows targeted on him and it's best to be as far away as possible."

She paled and turned her face away. _Breathe, Bella. Breathe!_

She heard Edward talking quietly with his father and brother, but the panicked roaring in her ears was too much and she could barely make out his whispered words.

The nobles and generals were yet too far away from them to realize what was going on and for that she was grateful. She didn't think it was good for the men-at-arms' morale to see their queen dithering, afraid to ride a horse.

Only a few men knew she was in disguised. She could see Sigourney surrounded by at least 50 men. She was wearing her ermine-lined cloak and her face was veiled. As far as the entire mounted army was concerned, the queen was already atop her horse and waiting for a signal from Kent to ride out.

She heard horses' hooves clopping on the pebbled ground and knew the Cullens, except for Edward, had left to join Sigourney's squad.

She heard his great sigh and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let him see her near to tears, and not because she was afraid to ride a horse.

"Come on, Bella. I'll boost you up."

She turned and looked up at him, standing tall and close to her. He was momentarily startled by her direct gaze.

"Do you know why I took that arrow?" she said abruptly, again surprising him with her turn of the conversation.

He took a quick breath and let it out slowly.

"We'll talk about it later, aye?" he murmured. The rapid thunder of horses galloping over the hill signaled that the riding army has started to leave.

The little defiant voice in her mind suddenly retreated. She backed down. She didn't want to for she did possess that womanly instinct to cling to her man before a battle. She didn't know what she expected. If he knew she loved him, finally, would he stay behind and be safe?

Edward stared at her for a few more moments and said nothing.

She took deep breaths of the misty air.

"You don't want to know," she muttered. It wasn't a question.

"I want to know," he said softly after awhile, his deep green eyes boring into hers, "but not now."

Bella let him lift her up onto her horse, which neighed as if assuring her he would not throw her off and break her neck. She patted his thick neck.

Edward swung up on his big black and nudged closer, checking her seat and spurs. His face was inscrutable yet fierce. She had seen that expression before. He was a mounted battle-scarred warrior now, not her gruffly gentle guard who just days before, had taught her how to milk a cow.

He critically eyed her appearance, from the top of her covered head to her page-boy tunic and stockings. Her leggings were thicker and looser than what the other pages and squires were wearing upon the insistence of Emmett. He seemed scandalized by the sight of her calves and knees and had searched the whole castle for what he considered more suitable.

She self-consciously tugged her cap lower, covering her ears.

"At the first sign of an enemy, an attack or the first volley of arrows, you are to immediately fall behind and I will come for you," he said, his tone unyielding.

She nodded meekly. She has heard this before, in fact all night. As if everyone, even Breton, felt it their crucial obligation to pile warnings after warnings on her head. What were they expecting her to do?

"And Bella, if I find you throwing yourself again in front of me to take _my_ arrow, I will lock you up in your own castle," he said grimly.

* * *

[Edward]

He had given up trying to cushion his harsh words. He tried courteous and proper when addressing her safety and look what had happened. She nearly died was what happened.

He forced his worry and frustration down, and produced a more necessary emotion - anger. Anger was good, anger would keep her alive. He didn't care that he was reprimanding the queen and he would do far more unpleasant things to keep her alive. She could order him stripped of his title after the war, was she inclined.

"Do I make myself clear?" he said coolly.

She shrugged - a delicate slight motion that fed his frustration.

"Bella …"

She spurred her horse and he couldn't believe she would just leave it at that, without an assurance that she would not purposely endanger herself for his sake. For others' sake, he quickly thought, for why would he think she would only risk her life for him?

He decided to let it go, for now.

It was a good two days ride before they reached Wyman Wurth, a place known to both Saxons and the old Gauls as the "last stand" in English soil. The invading Saxons and the Franks knew and cursed this treacherous pass, for many a battle was lost here, and it was the outsiders who were defeated.

Edward thought it was fitting that the latest war to be waged for the English throne would be in historical Wyman Wurth. Scouts have confirmed that this was where Argyll and his co-plotters and subversives were heading. It was plainly a call to war, this field of death, as it had always been for hundreds of years. This was where control of the kingdom would be fought. Again.

He caught up with his father, who was now riding with Sigourney.

He turned his head and looked over to his left where he knew Bella would be. She was flanked by Emmett and Sir Garett. He knew his brother would protect her with his life. But still, he felt his heart in his throat and his palms sweat at the sight of her vulnerable back.

* * *

[Bella]

Her whole body was aching and she felt as if her derriere was made of leather. Plus, her shoulder had started to throb around mid-day and thankfully, by nightfall she was used to the discomfort that she could ignore it.

At the moment she was wondering if she would sleep under the stars with the men, or was she supposed to sneak in Sigourney's tent later? She didn't mind sleeping outside for it was still a full moon, although waning. She needed to wash first though, for she could smell her sweat and her skin was caked with dirt and dust.

Emmett and Wessinger, or Sir Garrett to the Cullens, were huddled together and she didn't want to disturb them with such mundane and totally feminine request for a bath and change of clothes.

She had a pleasant surprise though, and she was glad he survived Balan Pass.

"Gud eve, me lady!" exclaimed Ollio.

Emmett immediately hissed at him. "Keep your voice down, lad," he admonished. The page flushed and bowed his head, ashamed. "Did my brother send you?"

"Aye, sir, Lord Kent did," he said.

Bella's heart skipped a beat at that, and she wondered which campfire he would be sleeping around this night. She stood up and gestured towards Ollio. "Come with me, I hear there's a lake nearby."

Emmett also stood up, obviously intending to escort her. She was about to tell him to stay, but she changed her mind. She murmured her thanks to him.

* * *

[Edward]

He was leaning against a large tree trunk, in the dark, watching the queen. He had excused himself from the generals' meeting earlier. He wanted to first make sure that Bella was settled down for the night before returning to the council of war leaders.

He was amused by Ollio's jubilant greeting to the queen. When she stood up and walked in the direction of the lake, he followed Emmett.

"I'll guard her," he told him smoothly.

Emmett frowned. "I'm her guard and _you _shouldn't be seen with her."

Edward ignored his words and his knowing look. "No one will see me. Let me escort her now."

"Very well," he said, sighing. He took a step forward towards camp and stopped. He grabbed his arm. "We'll talk about this later."

He shrugged him off and snorted. "There's nothing to talk about, brother."

Emmett let it go but he glared at him as he walked away.

* * *

"This is far enough," he said loudly. Bella quickly turned around and his heart soared at sight of her smiling face and in the moonlight, she was truly beautiful like a _sidhe_.

"Ollio, wait for us beyond yon trees," he said. The boy complied at once.

Edward turned his back on the lake to give her privacy. He heard a small splash of water and the rustle of clothes. He waited patiently. He could see Ollio's back standing near the copse of trees, too far to hear him.

"I'm done," she said quietly after some minutes, brushing past him and then she was facing him.

"Bella," he said, his voice too curt. Really, he should be more gracious when his intention was to apologize to her. "I do not excuse my behavior this morn and it was uncalled for. Forgive me, my lady."

"What? When you were growling at me and threatening to hold me prisoner in my own castle?"

"Yes, that one." And he smirked, he couldn't help it.

"You don't look contrite, sir," she said tartly.

He wanted to be lighthearted about it but he just couldn't manage good cheer at the moment, not on the eve of a battle.

"I … I believe I'm ready to hear it now," he said. "If you want to, that is," he quickly added.

All day her mysterious words haunted him. At first he shied away from it. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. But what was the harm in knowing? And what was her reason for saving him?

"Oh … now?" she said in a small voice. She sounded nervous and unsure, and he wondered if she had changed her mind.

She did a gesture that was unfamiliar. She scratched her head and then her eyes widened when her hand clutched her short hair. "Oh …" she said again.

"Are you unwell, Bella?"

"Yes! I mean no! I am fine. Only I've forgotten about my hair," she muttered, sounding, in Edward's opinion, rather like a small, flustered child.

He was sorry that he seemed to have put her in an awkward position. He should have just left things, unspoken things, to their proper place as secrets best buried.

"Bella, you don't have to tell me."

"I want to! I wanted to … but now I … I don't know how to say it," she said, the last words uttered in a whisper.

"You're the queen. You can say it however you want to say it," he said. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch her silky hair again but then remembered that they were likely being watched by others beyond the trees.

She let out a small laugh. "There are things I shouldn't say, queen or not. But I have to, now, before it's … too late." When she looked at him and smiled, there was an air of shyness to it.

"Edward," she said softly, almost a mere whisper. He barely heard his name but she was looking directly at him and had stepped closer. He watched her pretty mouth form his name again. "_Edward_, I -"

* * *

[Emmett]

He followed his brother, of course he did. He wasn't blind and even when he'd done some stupid things, he wasn't an idiot.

Edward was in love with the queen. He had known it since Balan Pass. And hearing said queen now about to declare herself, he jumped in. And God in Heaven forgive him.

"My lady!" he said, a bit rudely.

Both of them froze, eyes fixed on each other and at that moment, if there was any doubt in his mind before, he didn't have it now.

They loved each other.

He shouldn't have intruded, but he'd never been able to mind his own affairs, especially if it was the Cullens' affair.

"Accept my apologies for the interruption, my lady."

The queen said nothing, just watched his brother's face as he cleared his throat.

"Good eve, my lady," said Edward and without looking in his direction, he strode away.

Emmett was motionless, his mouth suddenly dry. Having decided to intrude, he didn't know how to follow it up. He racked his brain for excuses and ended up just staring at his feet.

Half expecting the queen to say "Off with your head," he gulped and waited.

"Yes," she said softly.

He looked up.

"I do."

She smiled.

Slowly, she approached him. When she was standing before him, she removed chain and pendant around her neck and placed it lightly in his hand. It was an elegant piece of feminine jewelry - silver chains and gold setting for the precious gems. A rare pink diamond surrounded by rubies, sapphires and emeralds.

"Give this to him when war is over." She closed her small fist around his larger one, hardly covering his own closed fist. Her hand was soft, fragile, and cold. "And tell him."

He nodded grimly.

* * *

[Argyll]

"My lord, the men awaits your bidding," his general reported.

He strode out of his tent and for a moment, feasted on the majestic vision of more than 20,000 men-at-arms and archers all bowing to his rule.

He raised his hands and obligingly spread his kingly blessings on his legion, like tossing crumbs to vagrants. He was assisted as he climbed atop his great steed, a purple emblem bearing England's seal draped on its flank.

A shout went up reverberating across the clearing and forests. Shouts of "King James!" rang in the air and he smiled and nodded magnanimously. When the noise died down, he beckoned his second-in-command.

"You are to bring Isabella to me alive."

"Aye, sire."

He nudged his horse forward. He was intending to further rouse his loyal allies and to inspect the ranks. He turned back to Agaston, "and try not to damage her too much."

* * *

[Edward]

There were 5,000 mounted warriors held back, on top of a knoll overlooking Wyman Wurth, while the other 10,000 was spread out in 50 columns on the battle field.

Some 300 were surrounding Sigourney, who was on her horse. Bella had dismounted along with the other pages and squires behind them, minding artillery and weapons, and ready to drag fallen knights off the field.

She wouldn't be required to run with the squires but he seriously doubted she would stay behind as instructed. He wouldn't put it pass her to do something reckless such as run amidst flying arrows to save an injured knight.

This morning he insisted she wore chain mail and helmet but the woman argued that she would stand out like a sore thumb because she was just a "page" and pages didn't wear body armor. She was correct but still, he forced her into a leather shield and strapped bow and arrow to her back. He discovered earlier today that she had a good eye and had the patience to aim at her target dead on.

Emmett was leading the archers, armed with deadly missiles dipped in poison, and standing full of menace at the onset of the battle, cross brows at the ready. Most of the bow men were armed with clubs, daggers and spears as second weapon.

They were not alone. Argyll's army has arrived.

Kent and his men waited patiently, arrogantly, as the traitors moved to their own formations. Like the enemies, they were armed with broadswords, lances, javelins, axes, maces and various other smaller hand weapons.

Edward estimated more than 20,000 warriors facing them, exceeding their number, but he barely showed concern. In fact it wasn't a problem at all. He was a Kent and they never cared about numbers, one against four in favor of the opponent was just fine with him.

His whole body was coiled tight, pulsing with the urge to ride hell-bent to war. To maim and to defeat, and to defend what was first the kingdom's and then his own.

Lord Worth the Earl of Aufforest, at the head of the infantry positions, has just raised the queen's purple banner signaling that they were prepared to charge.

It was time he joined his Father down below.

He turned and stared at Bella for several moments. She met his stare for stare. His whole heart was in his gaze and to his amazement, a tear rolled down her pale cheek. She nodded at him and he returned it, solemnly.

He spurred his horse to gallop faster when the heralds came on, signaling the charge at last. He didn't stop his thunderous run and was the first to break their formations after the bow men released their missile attack across the field.

* * *

[Carlisle]

It was noxious, the smell of battle, worse than the sickly putrid smell of a pox-diseased bugger.

The fighting could have gone on for hours but to the men on the field, it was all a blur of blood, blades clashing, grunting and yelling, and the terrible screams of maimed, injured men dying alone in the red field.

He saw the bastard, the king pretender, and charged in his direction. His son beat him to it and for a moment, as he watched Edward viciously swinging his broadsword and connecting with Argyll's shield, he felt resentment that it wasn't him who would bring death to the duke.

It had been years since his Esme had disappeared and he knew she was dead, just as he knew it was by this man's vile and treachery that killed Edward's mother.

Carlisle heard the hiss of a blade and turned, blocking it and in a blink, stabbed his spear in the knight's vulnerable side. He rose up and cleanly relieved the man of his head.

He turned back to Edward and Argyll in mortal combat.

Two more men came at him and he dispensed with them easily enough. He watched his son's back as he mercilessly pounded Argyll to the ground, breaking his shield in half. He saw men running to defend the betrayer and the bastard did a most shameful thing.

Argyll pushed Edward. He actually fell headlong against Edward's back while his son was occupied with hacking three other men. He stumbled to the ground and the bastard ran off! The man who was responsible for this war was running away.

Edward quickly regained his feet and for a moment, stared open-mouthed at the retreating Argyll. His men, which a moment before was trying to separate Edward's head from his shoulders, likewise stared dumbfounded at their departing king.

His son snapped out of it first and roaring, he swung his broadsword and mace and made short work of killing two out of three, while Carlisle took care of the third.

* * *

[Bella]

She tried to mind his warnings, she really did, but she couldn't make herself stay where was, hidden and safe.

She was continuously running to the edge of the field to help pages and squires bring in the wounded. Both Ollio and Breton, the only ones who knew who she was, would plead with her to stay behind the war zone but she ignored them, even when Ollio muttered that Edward would have his head if he saw her even remotely close to the battle lines.

It was when she was helping Breton drag another wounded when she looked up and saw Edward's blazing red hair glinting under the sun. She dropped the knight's arm and threw an apologetic look at the squire and ran to the field, only to be restrained by Ollio.

She stood there, her gaze fixed on Edward.

She saw him dragged from his horse and they – about five bulky warriors – fell on him, broadswords and maces raised to pound and hack through armor and bone. She screamed, calling out his name.

And like an avenging archangel, Edward broke through the pile of men and rose up roaring, berserked, bloody and wounded.

Bella screamed again when six more men joined in what looked like his execution, and forcibly took him from the other men. But Edward was not down yet, for he was still swinging his mace, causing mayhem and death around him.

She saw two of his attackers – one of them a familiar figure - knocked him down, a terrible blow to his head, and he fell.

Kent's men ran to their leader but it was too late. The men carried the unconscious Edward away.

He was merely unconscious, wasn't he? she told herself, fighting off a fainting spell. If he was dead they would have just left him there! she thought, crying and hysterical.

She felt her bile rise up from her stomach to her throat when one of the men behind Edward's limp body turned and she saw his face.

It was de Marseille, Montgomerie's nephew.

Bella struggled against Ollio and screamed bloody threats at him. But the boy, for once, wasn't afraid of her. He too had witnessed Edward's fall and abduction. He tightened his hold on her when she tried to kick him.

"Find Carlisle, Emmett, anyone!" she yelled at him.

He let her go, finally, and ran into the killing field.

She fell to the ground and violently heaved.

* * *

[Laurent]

"Heal me, woman. I've done your bidding. Cure me!"

He lay far from the field, away from Argyll's men.

He clutched his side and felt his lower body going numbed. He never felt Cullen's broadsword, nor did he realized he had been stabbed in his right side. It was deep, the wound, and he knew it was fatal.

Victoria stood still and silent, gazing down at Cullen's inert form on the ground.

He recognized that crazed look on her face and in that moment, he knew he was going to die. The witch would let me him die, let him bleed to death for she had him now.

Edward Cullen was hers.

His last dying thought was that his uncle was right.

He was a Goddamned fool.

* * *

*****a/n**

This ends Part 2: "The hunt".

Sidhe - Fairy

Brief summary of Part 3: "The fires of hell" – Captured and imprisoned by Victoria, Edward struggles to fight her off, even in chains. But her brand of torture is not only physical but a mental one for what will be revealed to him, about his wife and his true parentage and origin, has the potential of breaking his virtuous spirit.


	27. Part3: The fires of hell

**Stephenie Meyer's **Twilight

**a/n:** The M-rating is for language, violence and adult content.

**Part3/The fires of hell**

Old King John, Charles' grandsire, was a beastly, violent man.

History would know him as John the Blackheart for while the Black Plague would happen 150 years later, an equal number of people died during Blackheart's reign - hundreds of thousands - and not because of a spreading disease, but by blade and torture for gold and power.

Charles' father took the better part of 40 years sweeping Blackheart's terror off the land, like cauterizing wound.

The wound, left open, festered for decades and it took two sympathetic monarchs of different generations to effect a healing.

The last king followed the same and peace was restored up until Charles' death, barely 10 years after ascending to the throne.

Very few people were still alive that remembered Blackheart's tyrannical, oppressive rule. In the halls of the castle, his brutality could scarcely be forgotten for it was imprinted on every brick, as thick as it was burdensome.

The last two kings, while still ironhanded and commanding, tried their very hardest to balance the need for force to uphold the law.

Isabella, queen for less than half a year, knew that as soon as she embraced violence, the twin pillars of law and justice would be severely compromised.

At this point in the proceedings, she didn't give a damn.

* * *

[Bella]

**Aufforest Castle**

"The Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence," she whispered, kneeling before the chapel altar of the hallowed Blessed Mary, the Queen of the Angels, just two days after the battle at Wyman Wurth.

"And the violent take it by force," she vowed.

* * *

[Tanya]

She thought it would all end with Lord Montgomerie's death, whose ambitions to the throne have rendered her family his slaves and prisoners for decades.

The Mullineaux clan was secretly under the control of the evil duke. Her father, the earl, as a young man was tortured by Montgomerie into submission. She didn't know what her father had done for the duke but she knew it wasn't pleasant.

It didn't end with her father's servitude. Tanya's mother had been taken away from them when she was 10 years old as guaranty of the earl's reliability. The duke had confined her, heavy with child, in his castle outside of London. Her brother, Henry, was born in captivity.

She married into the Cullens fully knowing her role. She was to spy for Mongomerie. At first she was faithful in her reporting. The constant threats to her mother and brother was enough to beat her into submission.

She stood still, her black-robed form blending with the shadows.

It was dangerous to leave Forks Hall at night for the archers stationed in the towers had free will to shoot suspicious persons lurking outside the gates.

She didn't want to leave her son but she had to. It was not a safe journey. She silently promised her child that she would be back for him, soon, before Edward –

She gulped and closed her eyes. She bit her lower lip to stop the awful sobs she could feel was about to pour out of her heart. She couldn't face him again and he would not, couldn't _ever_ know what she had done! He would banish her and she would never see her son again.

She loved him, loved Edward unexpectedly and wholeheartedly.

At first she viewed Cullen Hall as just another prison for her. They had forced her into this union with Edward and then made her a spy. She had to do it because Montgomerie held her family's life.

But Tanya fell in love with Edward and while she continued to divulge information to Montgomerie, there were some details that she was keeping to herself, especially if these secrets would compromise Edward's life.

She didn't mean to fall in love with him, _she didn't! _Her family had suffered for years and she was the only one who could ease them their burden. It was definitely never in the plan that she'd get too attached with Kent's heir.

Emotions and attachments were dangerous, her father had told her. It would render one vulnerable and she didn't want to be weak anymore. She had been weak all her life.

She entered the marriage determined to carry out her duties to her family. She didn't know who Edward was and had never met him. But months into their marriage, she realized Edward was a good man, honorable and kind, and it took no time at all to give him her heart.

_But what of your loyalty? _her often-beaten conscience jeered at her_. _

She grabbed her head and clenched her teeth.

No! she cried, shaking her head violently.

Edward would forgive me, she thought.

He has to!

_I am the mother of his son._

* * *

[Alice]

She arrived a day sooner than expected at Aufforest. She had left Forks Hall ahead of Bella's messenger bearing summons.

Alice rode as if the fires of hell were licking the horse's hooves. When she rode past the pillar stones of the stronghold, she was not surprised to find men-at-arms stationed and at ease all over the manor grounds.

The queen was within the imposing Aufforest Hall. She was a bit puzzled why she wasn't in London, though, but there were so many things crowding her mind these last few days that she didn't think too much about the fact that Bella was still three days away from the castle.

She didn't even said fare thee well to Jasper and to the queen mother when she left Forks Hall. There was no time for personal goodbyes but she did leave messages to Angela's maid.

She jumped down, unladylike, from her horse and ran up the pebbled stairs to the long hall. There was a horde of ranking knights in the big hall, a veritable throng of powerful nobles.

Alice strained her neck, searching for a familiar face.

A servant brushed past her and she grabbed her sleeve. "Take me to the queen," she said urgently.

The serving maid, startled, dropped the jug of wine she was carrying and fluttered about in panic. A man, also a servant, rushed to her side, scolding her while cleaning up her mess.

Alice groaned in frustration and was about to demand for attention from anyone when she heard the voice she most wanted to hear. She quickly turned around and walked up straight to him.

"Sir Emmett!" she cried, rudely interrupting whatever was going on. "I must see the queen!"

He was huddled with a group of grim-faced nobles and no one was welcoming of her sudden appearance.

For a moment she feared Sir Emmett was going to ignore her but an emotion flickered in his darkened eyes and it was fierce.

Alice gasped, terrified at what she was seeing on his face. She clutched at his tunic unthinkingly.

With a curt nod to the other men he spun around, his hand on her arm and half-dragged her across the room.

At the end of the hall, he turned to his right, opened a hidden door and another door and finally, they came to a narrow hallway guarded by several men.

He barked orders to open the double doors and she was pushed forward. Inside, his father, Lord Kent was bent towards Bella who was sitting on a chair. Both of them looked up when the door opened.

She sucked in her breath when she saw her ashen face.

"My lady," she sobbed.

The queen stayed seated and stared at her. She was pale, so pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was cut short and standing up on its end. She looked as if she hadn't had a peaceful moment in days.

"Edward's gone," Bella said without preamble.

Alice stood still, blinking at the chill in her voice. She couldn't look away from her haunting face.

Slowly, gingerly as if she was an old woman, Bella stood up and there was not a question in her steely eyes but rather a grim statement of fact.

"Seer," she said in a commanding tone. "Prepare yourself."

Alice bowed to her, low. There was something almost terrifying in the moment. She had never seen her like this before. She wasn't the Bella she grew up with.

She dared looked up.

The Cullens, moved by the feral and primitive atmosphere in the room, had also knelt down before the silently enraged queen, fierce like a tigress.

"I do not give a damn what bloody sorcery is involved, Alice of Brandon," she gritted out. "You. Will. Find. Edward!"

* * *

[Carlisle]

He stared at the queen.

For a moment, he remembered his father's words to him, a long time ago.

"You have far greater a mission than this dukedom, son," the old duke had rasped, dying on his bed. They had all gathered around him but at the last minute, he dismissed everyone but his heir.

"You are Charles' closest ally, Carlisle. You have a duty to guide him and hope to God in Heaven that Blackheart's blood will never rise in your king."

It didn't. Charlie was a good man, a benevolent, greathearted king, like his father before him.

Carlisle now narrowed his eyes at Isabella, Blackheart's great-granddaughter.

He would never condone a return of tyranny but … his son, Edward, was missing, possibly dead. He needed to be out there looking for him, killing everyone in his path but he couldn't leave as yet. His duty was to his queen first.

Still, he knew. In a kingdom forged by oaths sealed for hundreds of years, it was inevitable that loyalties were challenged by rivalries and alliances were brutally severed. Power, as Charlie knew it to be, was never a given even by birthright.

Blackheart seized more power than he was born into, and the tyrant achieved his power through violence based on the belief – which was stronger even than Rome's divinity – that land and people were to be owned and controlled. And as kings and queens knew it for sure, violence feeds on greed, prejudice, manipulation and betrayal.

What he was seeing now was a queen with blood in her eyes but he wasn't sure why.

The crown was still hers. That worm-gut Argyll had retreated and his army defeated.

The queen's army had ridden to Aufforest to rest before traveling in full force to London, expecting to encounter the few remaining subversives along the way.

To his surprise and great dismay, Isabella had refused to leave and return to London at once. She wanted to come with the Kents to find Edward but Carlisle had convinced her that it would be wisest to reclaim the castle immediately, before Argyll could recoup.

"You are queen," he said, his voice low. They were alone now. His son had escorted Lady Alice back to the big hall after her brief audience with the queen.

"Speak, Carlisle, and speak clearly," she snapped. She plunged her hand in her short hair and it stunned him for he recognized the mannerism. Pinpoints of pain assailed his heart for it was Edward's own habit of raking his hand in his hair when agitated.

He cleared his throat. "You are our oath, my liege. We have given our all to you. It is your duty to rule now, it is your right given to you by the blood of men."

After his low-voiced speech, he looked up. Isabella's cold eyes were on him, straight in the eye, unblinking.

_My God_, he thought, bowing his head. He wondered if Blackheart had the same eerily light brown eyes, like icicles.

"You are my father's most trusted counsel, Carlisle," she said, her tone clipped. "And now you're mine."

"Yes, my lady," he murmured assent.

And then something happened and he gaped at her. She seemed to lose her rigid hold on herself and her lips trembled.

"Your son…"

His mind latched on to her tone, and he couldn't ignore it. It was wretched, hopeless and scared. At that moment he suddenly realized that she was still a young woman, barely ready for her queenly duties.

"He …Edward -"

He heard the small hesitation in her voice, the halting emotion-filled voice she used when she said his son's name. She looked away from him and he stared.

_Oh no. Please, Merciful God, not again! _He prayed desperately. He couldn't look away.

She turned her head slightly and he saw the bleakness in her face. She looked up at him and in her agonized eyes, he saw Esme's, the day he had left her forever.

"You will bring him back," Queen Isabella said softly. It wasn't an order, it was a supplication.

There was a heavy silence as she walked across the room and looked out of the window for a long time.

Carlisle stood motionless, respecting the unspoken words. She meant for him to see, to know and to understand.

She finally looked up at him and she was back to herself. She raised her eyebrows at him, imperious.

"Yes, my lady," he said, bowing. "I swear on my life." And may the fates and Heaven have mercy on you both, he silently prayed.

* * *

"The Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence," he murmured. He had just left the queen's presence. "And the Kingdom of Heaven is like a woman."

Not waiting for daylight, Kent, his son Emmett and a squad of men left Auforrest Hall that same evening.

* * *

[Alice]

Bella was in seclusion for most of the day. She had waited and waited for another audience with her but her closest maid-servant and guard, a small woman called Sigourney, was with her now.

Alice was sitting, alone, on a bench at the edge of the courtyard. She had watched Lord Kent and Sir Emmett ride out from there. It was dark, the waning full moon was hidden by heavy clouds but the lack of light did not discourage the search party. To look for Edward ... _my_ brother, she thought.

She had yet to wrap her mind around this revelation.

How could that be, that he was her brother?

And who was she? Was she a Kent, too? It couldn't be. She knew in her heart that her father was Brandon. She could hardly ignore her sire for she has his eye color and observers have said that she resembled Grandma Brandon.

Was the connection her mother? Was Esme the center of it all?

In all her life – not that she was fond of gossip but Rosalie was – they had never heard of any rumors linking her mother illicitly with another man, and certainly never to the imposing, very powerful Duke of Kent.

Alice gazed up at the waning moon, considering.

There was time to consult the elements and she had her plants, herbs and her runes for the rituals.

She needed to create magic to find Edward.

She had tried scrying and other forms of divination all afternoon to get a sense of where her brother was, to no avail.

Impulsively she stood up and quickly strode across the courtyard until she reached a shadowy alcove. She looked to her left and to her right to make sure she not being observed.

She reached inside her small pouch which was tied around her waist and she took out 12 rounded, smooth stones. She chanted softly and repeatedly, and placed the stones back inside the cloth bag. She shook them inside the pouch seven times. With eyes closed, she grabbed a handful of stones and placed them on the ground.

Four white stones and four black stones. She tried again and again, it was an even number. On the third try she gave up. An even number of stones, equal whites and blacks meant there was no definite reply from spirits.

It was an entire afternoon of fruitless, frustrating divination. It was failure after failure. Nothing was working. She had tried branches, twigs, seashells and pebbles. She had burned an old tree trunk to divine smoke and read the ashes, and still she didn't see. The spirits and fates were giving her nothing.

When the moon was high and her back was aching from her efforts, she finally stopped.

She knew why. She couldn't put it aside anymore and she knew why nothing was working.

The blackest magic was at work, and there was only one woman twisted enough to use blood to control the elements and to block her from seeing.

She looked up at the moon one last time, pointing the blade that was her mother's at the orb's fullness.

_Goddess of the Moon, true morrow, be true now to me_, she chanted. _That I ere the morrow my kin and blood may see …_

Alice returned to her bedchamber and placed the knife under her pillow. She was done with divinations.

The true observance of omens couldn't be seen in divination but only by drawing blood. Her own blood.

* * *

[Victoria]

She sat, naked, in her smooth and large, hardened pottery for her special bathing. It had taken her chambermaids the whole morning lugging pail after pail of lake water to fill up the tub but she was patient. For the first time in her life, she was very indulgent and even pleasant to her servants.

She took care to brush her skin with the perfumed soap made of vegetable and flower oils and from the fats of animals.

She washed her skin until it glowed.

She washed her hair three times until it was straight, shiny and sleek.

At last, scrubbed and cleaned, she gracefully rose from her tub and glided to the center of the room.

Three women surrounded her, pampering her skin with more fragrant oils squeezed from various herbs and flowers, some shipped from faraway, mystical lands. She let them clothed her and comb her long lustrous hair for her. She was a goddess tonight, pure and flawless.

"Leave me," she said and the words were almost a sigh. She smiled at her servants. She turned her head away, and she didn't see that her smile made the women pale. She was oblivious to their muted gasps of fear.

Victoria was ready.

She approached the long table beside her canopied bed. Her hand trembling, she lightly, lovingly caressed the gleaming blades laid out there. These were paper thin blades, some were tubes and spiked, exquisitely crafted by blind men from the Moors. They say these men were not even humans, for how could they carve such perfect, beautiful blades?

"Only the best for you, my love," she whispered. "Only the best …"

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading.

"The kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force." – New Testament, Matthew 11:12.

And James Joyce said: "The kingdom of heaven suffers violence; the kingdom of heaven is like a woman."


	28. Shackled

Still **Stephenie Meyer's**

**Chapter25/Shackled**

[Edward]

The cold struck him and he could not breathe, stunned by the blow to his face. His heavy lungs expanded and he choked, his throat scratchy and on fire.

He forced his eyes to peel open and he lurched forward, spewing whatever obstruction was in his throat. He grunted when the sudden movement jarred his head and a piercing pain laced through the top of his head and behind his skull, almost gagging him.

He had no more than a second to gulp in air when a shot of the same punishing cold hit the side of his head and this time, forced from his stupor and the terrible throbbing of his head, he could smell the foul icy water. He retched violently.

Dry heaves, he thought, momentarily detached. He choked more of the fetid liquid out and he tasted blood. He was lucid enough to realize that something was holding him up he was too weak to stand on his own. As if his skull weighed a ton, he turned his head slowly, painfully.

He was chained to the wall, his arms pulled wide above his head, his body dangling like gutted fish.

"Ah see yer wakin' yew lazy goat-swivin' who'rsun!" A cracking sound, like a laughing toad, said somewhere below his right shoulder. Before he could slowly turn his head to the source of the snivel, icy water hit his face again.

Sputtering, Edward bared one glaring eye – he couldn't seem to keep both eyes open – and spit water, blood and saliva directly at the stinking bastard's face.

"Go _fut_ yourself, little man," he rasped.

Pig-face bastard growled menacingly and Edward raised a brow insolently at him. He had time only to see a swinging bear of a hand and …

Blissful blackness engulfed his world once again.

* * *

It was the smell that woke him this time, a tart and minty smell with a hint of rosemary.

He was drowning but not in water. The air consumed him and he felt nothing, only the breeze and an unknown presence. His eyes remained close, he couldn't open them. The lightness of his entire being soothed him into stillness and there was no struggle, only submission in his body.

Oblivion, he thought, so very exhausted. He wanted to sleep forever.

"_My love," she breathed in his ear, tenderly._

"_Yes?" He sighed deeply._

"_I will cleanse you, my love. Let me touch you, heal you …"_

"_Yes," he mumbled, pleased. _

_He felt soft, grazing touches on his chest, the smooth fingers gliding upwards to his neck and higher, caressing his jaw._

_A cold metal was pressed to his lips and he turned his face away._

"_Drink, my love. It will heal you …"_

_Her voice was so lovely, her touch intoxicating. _

_He drank greedily from her cup._

* * *

"Edward."

He tossed his head from side to side and he could feel his eyeballs moving quickly under his lids.

"Edward …"

He opened his eyes and the heady sensation made his eyes roll back. Something hit his face and his eyes snapped open once again.

"Edward!"

Her voice finally penetrated his mind and he turned to the sound. He stared fixedly at the vision, his skin prickling in fear, in desire. He sat up suddenly and would have jumped out of the bed he found himself lying on, but his senses were dulled and he couldn't move fast enough. He went still and he kept staring at her.

What the hell was she doing here?

"_Bella?_"

For it was her before him, glorious, shy and blushing. Her hair, unbound, was longer with reddish hues and flowing over her shoulders. His eyes lowered and followed the path of her clinging blue dress. He gulped, flushed, his throat suddenly dry.

She was wearing clothes that revealed more skin than he was used to seeing on her.

His heart pounding with nerves and excitement, he slowly got up from the bed and tentatively approached his beautiful queen.

"Bella, why are you here?"

He wanted to reach out and touch her but he used what little control he had to restrain himself. He knew he _needed_ to touch her so very badly, more than he needed air and water to live.

She smiled and took the step that brought her closer to him. He sucked in a quick breath and inhaled her delicious scent. God, he wanted her. There was a powerful coil of lust inside him and it was tearing his gut to suppress it.

He stopped breathing altogether when she lifted a trembling hand. It hovered near his neck before settling to cup his jaw. He closed his eyes when she ran her fingers softly along his stubbly skin.

"Open your eyes, my love," she whispered.

He did as told, helpless, enthralled. She was so alluring.

Raising herself on her tiptoes, she leaned her soft cheek against his. "Kiss me, Edward," she breathed.

He started to shift restlessly and then went still. He didn't move.

She sighed and the sweetest of smiles lighted her face.

"I want you to kiss me, my love. It is not forbidden anymore. Trust me ..."

Banishing all caution for truly, he could not help himself nor did he have any control over his emotions. He loved her, would live only for her if she would but take him, be his forever.

He touched the corner of her mouth.

"I love you," he said clearly. He bent his head lower but stopped an inch from her lips. He happened to look into her eyes before his lips touched hers. He jerked back and blinked, stunned.

Her eyes were blazing and a darker brown than he remembered them, almost black. She looked away for a moment and he could tell that she was breathing hard, as if containing a strong emotion she feared of unleashing.

"What is it, Bella?" he asked, worried. He touched her face and gently lifted it to his. He leaned forward slowly but she backed up a step. Confused, he dropped his hands to his sides.

Her gaze did not lose its coldness and he frowned. Did he do something wrong?

And then she smiled and his heart began to pound faster.

"Lay on the bed, my love," she said coyly, running fingertips down his chest, stopping when it reached his navel. He felt his body tremble and stepped back, moving back to the bed as instructed. He shook his head at his obedience but he must follow her command. He simply has to do her bidding.

He settled down on the bed. She slowly approached, his eyes following her sensuous movement. She veered to a long table by the bed frame, her hands floated over it. She picked up a gleaming object and turned back to him.

"You say you love _her_, Edward?" She bared her teeth in a predatory way.

Edward eyed her curiously. _Her?_

"It's you, Bella. Only you," he said fervently, his eyes roaming over her face.

She sighed and her eyes grew faintly sad. He started to get up, he hated to see her sad.

Her expression changed again, became steel. She hissed at him. "Don't move." He went still. A rush of awareness shivered across his skin.

Bella climbed on the bed and straddled him. Still, he didn't move, only his eyes followed her. She raised her left hand above him, revealing a thin blade. He knew he should be worried but he wasn't. He felt strangely relaxed, subdued.

She undulated on top of him, grinding against his groin. He stiffened and forced his body to remain unmoving.

She moaned and bit her lower lip.

He started to raise his hands to hold her waist but she growled at him to stop, to hold still. He froze.

He didn't see her move but suddenly, he felt the blunt tip of the knife slicing across his chest, ripping his tunic apart cleanly. She dragged her hands along his exposed torso and he grunted when she raked her nails across his heated skin.

His grunt turned into a groan when she bent her head and licked his stomach. "Bella …" he begged, for what, he couldn't tell. There was something irresistible about her, a chain that he couldn't break, bonding him to her in avid longing. He only knew that he must have her or die in the wanting.

Slowly, she lifted herself again and in one fluid motion, she raised the knife and smiled at him.

Mesmerized, he smiled back wistfully. He just couldn't stop from looking at her lovely face.

* * *

[Alice]

She heard a horrible, bloodcurdling scream and her eyes shot wide in an instant.

"Me lady! Me lady!"

Shocked, she turned her blurry eyes to her maid who was crying beside the bed. "O me lady! Yew's scairt me witless, me lady."

"W-What?" Alice croaked. Who screamed?

"Yew screamt dae castle doon, me lady!"

"I – I did?"

_Oh, God._

She sat up quickly and hopped out of her narrow bed. She saw that the maid, in her panicked haste, has left the chamber door open. She quickly walked to it and shut it close.

"Under my bed, the cedar box, pull it out and drag it by the window. Hurry!" she barked when the maid just stood there, blinking.

She ran to the windows and gazed up. It was early evening. She must have slept all afternoon out of pure exhaustion.

For three days, she barely slept, worrying about Edward and what was possibly happening to him. Most of all, frightened for Bella and what this was doing to her.

She and a lot of Bella's close retinue had been barred from entering the queen's private chambers. Alice hasn't seen her since her arrival at Aufforest days ago.

The queen has not allowed anyone to come and see her. She has refused all attempts at solace and turned away all expressions of sympathy. It was as if she refused to be comforted until she knew where Edward was, alive or dead.

No one knew what was going on within the confines of Bella's chambers, no one was permitted inside except Edward's father, the Duke of Kent, before he left the castle to search for his son.

It was as if in Lord Kent, Bella recognized a similar agony of the not knowing. There was a strange comfort in shared grieving and that was what she seemed to seek from Lord Kent.

But, now even the duke was gone. He had left two days ago with Sir Emmett. She heard talk in the hall that two squads of men-at-arms from Kent and Lumberland, two powerful fiefs controlled by the Cullen family, were at this moment scourging the whole of England in search of Edward.

Alice sent a momentary prayer of thanks to Mother Mary that Jasper was still at Forks Hall guarding the queen's family. He was safe, for now.

She was brought abruptly to the present when her maid paused at her side, panting. She has dragged her cedar chest containing her mother's grimoire in front of her.

"Leave now and lock the door," she said.

She stood up and created a circle of safety, of sanctuary, and began the ritual.

Alice opened the old chest and took out the book, candle, frankincense, and the Oil of Seer's Sage.

Calmly and with precise motions, she opened the windows and lighted the candle and incense. She took out a ceramic bowl and poured the oil. She ripped her clothes off and bared her upper torso. She applied the oil over chest and arms.

Without her moving, the grimoire stirred and she watched her hand as if they were someone else's, open the book to a marked page. She felt her lips moving, chanting the words. She held a small knife in her hand, she wasn't aware how it got there, it didn't matter. She knew what has to be done.

"Here I lie, servant of the Goddess of the Moon, hear me now, O Mother!"

She raised the blade that was Esme's and passed it over fire, a blessing from the Goddess. She chanted the words no one else would speak after her, and none has spoken before her.

"Fire, fire, blessed fire

Unto fortune I aspire

Now I hope that I may see

The future that will come to me …"

She took a deep breath and let it go lightly, and she felt freed. Slowly, she raised the blade and ran it across her arm. She didn't feel the sting, only euphoria. When her blood merged with the oil and her skin has absorbed the essence of its power, she felt a jolt of life deep inside her and she leaned her head backwards, her eyes staring adoringly at the moon.

_Ilyatari, _she sighed in a soundless chant and waited. As she felt more grounded, she said louder_, Tua amin!  
_

The flame of the candle burst higher in respond to her voice, at the same time that her skin turned cold and tight, tingly, as if a powerful entity was holding her up.

_Amin naa llye nai … Amin naa tualle. _

Alice gazed steadily into the fire, now burning low, and waited, transfixed, until she heard the voice.

_Speak, my child, _the voice said clearly in her head. She bowed.

_Eadbhard__, manke lye.  
_

_Entula tuulo i'ba, Eadbhard.  
_

_Tua amin! Tua amin!_

She kept her head low, respectful and in awe, as she received the vision she has sought from the Queen of the Moon.

_N'tess gothamin_, the voice intoned, the words floating around her, shielding her.

_Naur tinchor ostring_ ...

The gentle breeze, supporting the flame of the candle into a steady burn, suddenly roared fierce and blazing and whipped her hair against her face. The fire bloomed into a brighter flame. Her heart, which had been beating slow during the ritual, was thrumming faster until she felt faint.

The winds changed direction, swirled once around her body, and whooshed out of the window into the dark night.

Alice felt a great force has let its hold on her go and ease, and she lay down on the floor, drained yet empowered, her eyes dimming as the fire slowly died.

"I bind you, Victoria of Argyll, daughter of DuFour," she breathed, her voice far away and fading. "I bind you until my kin and blood is free. I hold you in yoke until my kin and blood is safe, and I restrain you until my kin and blood is with his people once more."

She took one more deep breath before oblivion claimed her.

"I bind you in your own blood, Victoria of Argyll, daughter of DuFour, until you are no more …"

* * *

[Bella]

She was where she has been for the past many hours, maybe days, by the window looking up at the skies. She watched it turned dark, giving way to light, back to dark again and an endless hole of black.

Night and day, it didn't matter. The world was moving on without him.

She was hoping that by not moving herself, keeping still, she could stop the alternating of the skies, prevent the light from turning to dark.

Her dried lips parted slightly. But that was impossible, she knew that. A mortal queen such as herself couldn't stop the heavens from its dance of change.

Edward once told her that she was born with the power of choice. She had disagreed with him. At the time, she thought he was referring to the kingdom and the crown.

How could she have chosen otherwise? Her father was king. His father before him was king and so forth. Her royal line had been on the throne for almost 200 years ever since her great, great grandfather seized the crown from the French occupiers.

Unbidden and of a sudden, Edward's voice swarmed inside her head. She squeezed her eyes tight as if to keep his strong yet kind, velvety voice from leaving her head.

She missed him!

_Merciful Mother_, I missed him so much, she sobbed.

She couldn't live without him. This thought, the same thoughts that have plagued her for days, came crashing back and she bit her lower lip hard to keep from screaming.

Her eyes still closed in agony she grabbed the small pillow behind her and unleashed her pain. Her muffled screams went on and on.

She cried for her lost chance, when she could have chosen him. She crammed her voiceless scream back down her throat to punish herself, because she was weak.

She loved him, she always did. Love should have been the most important part of her life, and should be the only one.

She loved Edward, only him. And she did not choose him.

* * *

[Edward]

_Eadbhard__. _

_Entula a' moinayamen ...  
_

_Wake up!  
_

His eyes snapped open. His head felt so light there were little pinpricks of sensations on the top of his head, like bubbles trapped in a bottle.

He blinked as he fought for lucidity. His first barely coherent thought was Bella and how to get back to her.

_God in Heaven_, keep her safe!

His second thought was an immediate reaction to his body and his surroundings. There was a weight, albeit light, on top of his burning chest. It snaked an arm around his neck, pinning its body closer to him. He felt a hand attached itself on his thigh, kneading and squeezing.

Edward brought his gaze to the woman's eyes and he froze.

"Get off me," he said quietly, forcing his body not to recoil in revulsion when Victoria's red lips formed into a slippery smile, her eyes were filled with satisfaction.

He tried to remember what happened to him, why he was in a bedchamber with this woman instead of the dark dungeon. There were shadows and a vision trying to surface from the blackness that was his memory but it was elusive, vague.

One thing was clear. He had to get Victoria's hands off himself before hatred of her overwhelmed him and she would end up dead, her traitorous neck throttled by his bare hands.

Her face crunched into a confused expression as she absorbed his words. Her head tilted to the side, looking uncertain at him.

"Get. Off. Me. Woman," he gritted out, just barely holding on to his self-control.

Alarmed, Victoria finally removed herself from him, jumped off the bed and was against the wall in a flash, panting, staring at him wide-eyed.

Edward paled when her movement brought his attention to the stinging pain on his chest. He looked down and stared at the trail of thin, dried blood from his navel up to the point where his heart was beating furiously. At the back of his mind, where he had miraculously remained calm and detached, he noted that the wound was not deep enough and that he wasn't cleaved, only marked.

He lifted his narrowed eyes at Victoria. As he stood up, his gaze unwavering from her, he shook off his ruined tunic and that was when he noticed more dried blood on his arms. He inspected the tiny wounds closely. His eyes snapped back to her.

Bite marks.

The vile, disgusting woman has bit him and drew a knife on him! He nearly doubled over and gagged, his loathing of her knew no end.

How? How did it happen?

Victoria whimpered and he looked at her sharply. Her eyes were huge and filled with terror.

Bewitched.

The woman has ensorcelled _me_, he thought, still stunned and repulsed.

Edward's eyes slid down lower on himself, below his navel, at his manhood. He shuddered, suddenly cold. He looked up at her again.

"Victoria ..." Quietly, purposely nonchalant.

He stepped forward. And another.

"It appears that it was you who masterminded all this -" he waved a hand in her direction, "devilry." There was a hard edge to his voice now and she almost crumpled unto herself in fear.

He leaned closer, without touching any part of her. "_What_ in God's Hell did you to me?"

Victoria screamed and he snapped. He quickly turned around and pulled her arm roughly, intending to escape through the window with her as hostage, and he didn't care how high up they were in this fortress. His focus was to get the hell out of there and fast.

Her men must have been posted just outside the door because only seconds passed before they broke down the heavy wood and burst into the room.

Edward took another step towards the window, about to hurl the both of them outside and into the air when a brute hand yanked him back and smashed something metallic against the back of his shoulder.

He fell down, dragging Victoria with him. His hold on her weakened, she was snatched away from him.

He rose up and shoved his shoulder against the hulking bulk and they both sprawled on the floor. In a blink, they were swarmed upon and he was trapped. He struggled with all his might to break free but there was too many of them. He roared savagely in frustration, overpowered.

"Don't kill him!" Victoria screeched at her men. "Keep him in chains and wait for my command. But by God, don't maim him," she snarled. The excitement and violence must have given her back her spine and vicious depravity for she began to laugh.

He was pinned to the floor by four men holding his arms behind him, one holding his head locked in place in a vice almost choking him. A deep, threatening sound erupted from his throat when the woman knelt before him. She dared touch his cheek and he growled.

"Don't struggle, my love," Victoria cooed, making his skin crawl in revulsion. "We've only just started."

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading.

Fut – possibly the earlier version of "Fuck" (from the Latin word futuere). The dictionary of old vulgar words I'm using said the word fut, which is fuck in the Olden Times, is very possibly Scots in origin.

Some Elvish:

Ilyatari - Queen of All

Tua amin - Help me

Amin naa llye nai. Amin naa tualle - I will do as you command, I am your servant

Eadbhard, manke lye - Edward, where is he?

Entula tuulo i'ba, Eadbhard - I seek his resurrection, (our) Edward

N'tess gothamin - Hold him (Protect him)

Naur tinchor ostring - Shield him in fire

Entula a' moinayamen - Remember (Remember who you are)


	29. Cursed

Despite the rather grotesque childbirth episode in Breaking Dawn by **Stephenie Meyer**, the fourth Twilight book still won the British Book Award for "Children's Book of the Year" for 2009 and the New York-based Children's Choice Book Awards.

**Chapter26/Cursed**

[Tanya]

She had ceased her pitiful, useless crying. Tears were her companion for a long time and it only stopped, briefly, when she married him, her beloved Edward.

She didn't complained when the rider compelled her to travel all night without rest. There was no use complaining. She was at the mercy of forces too powerful for her family to fight against.

She was told that Lord Argyll had taken control of all of Lord Montgomerie's holdings. This seemed to include men like her father, who was now a prisoner along with her mother and little brother.

Tanya supposed she should be grateful that her father still lives when Lord Montgomerie was now rotting in his grave. She said a quick prayer of thanks to Mother Mary that the evil duke was dead.

She spurred her horse faster and tried to keep pace with the rider ahead of her that she was following. She didn't know where they were heading and when she tried to ask, she was backhanded.

She shivered at the thought that she was being led to Lord Argyll. She detested that man, he who wanted her husband destroyed at all costs.

Oh, what was to become of her and her family? She sobbed silently. Would she always be forced to betray Edward and the Cullen clan? Would she ever saw her little son again?

She must find a way to end their bondage to the Montgomeries. They were no more, and Lord Argyll was next. She firmly believed that the Cullens would eventually destroy the last dissenting duke.

They had been riding for half a day more when the rider abruptly stopped his horse and raised his arm, signaling the end of the journey. She strained her neck to see what was in front of them. Riding at a much slower pace now, their horses rounded a copse of trees and then stopped.

It was an old castle, small compared to the great halls in larger fiefs, but this one was surrounded by a high wall.

A trickle of cold fear traveled along her spine. She closed her eyes and prayed that Lord Argyll was not hidden inside this fortress. She let the horse led her inside and past the thick gates, her head bowed.

The rider ahead of her halted and leaped off his horse. There was silence in the front yard, not even barking dogs could be heard. She started to tremble and when her name was called, she snapped her head up in shock.

"Lady Cullen, how nice to see you again," the woman said, her smile wicked.

* * *

[Victoria]

She should have killed her many years ago, she thought, rolling her eyes at the fearful woman. She has had many opportunities to end her life in the past, after all.

The week before Tanya's wedding to Edward, Victoria did try to slit her throat. Two things stopped her from spilling her blood.

Edward was hers and it didn't matter how long it would take her until he belonged to her. The other reason was that Tanya was weak and her weakness was an asset to her family, the Montgomeries.

* * *

"Edward is here, dear Tanya," she said in a simpering, sympathetic tone.

She paled and would have probably fainted if not for her quick movement. Victoria was by her side and digging her nails onto her arm to hold her up. She didn't care that she was hurting her. "There, there, now. He is unharmed," she lied.

Tanya slumped on a chair and stared at her, her mouth popping open and close like a fish.

Reining her impatience, she told her that her husband, Lord Argyll, had ordered her to capture Edward. "But, my dear, I have every intention of releasing him. The poor man never did me any harm," she said, smiling reassuringly at her. Then, suddenly impatient again, she rounded on her. "But you must first help me, Tanya, would you do that? Help me so I can help you?"

Tanya blinked and nodded like a simpleton. "W-what must I do?" she whispered.

Victoria stood in front of her, watching tears fall down her bloodless cheeks.

"Go back and spy on the queen's household," she said, her tone icy.

Tanya abruptly stood up and what little color she had vanished. "Th-the queen? I… I cannot do that, please, Victoria," she pleaded.

Victoria eyed her, lips pursing in contemplation.

"You must know, Tanya, what we have known all along." She paused dramatically, waiting for her to look at her. When she did, she emphasized her every word. "Listen to me, Tanya, the queen wants Edward. She wants him, _your husband_, for herself."

Stunned, Tanya fell back on the chair and Victoria took advantage of her prone state and knelt in front of her. She clasped both of her hands to her bosom, her eyes limpid with false sincerity. "My dear, I have seen what will happen. Isabella will enchant your husband and he wouldn't be able to help himself. The Spirits have told me so …"

"Believe me for I tell you true!" she exclaimed, grabbing her face between her hands. "But know this … only _I_ can help you. The queen is a manipulative and powerful woman. Let me help you, Tanya. You and Edward are meant to be together."

"E-Edward and my son -" She stammered and couldn't go on, she was sobbing too much. Victoria hid her irritation and stood up. "Yes, yes. You will _all_ be together." One happy family, she mused evilly.

She watched the miserable woman for several moments more. She tried to control her hatred of her, for daring to carry Edward's child in her unworthy womb. _I should have been the mother of his son!_ She hissed at herself.

"Well, dear Tanya? Will you help me destroy the queen?"

"No," she sobbed, her hands tearing at her hair. "I cannot do it!"

* * *

With the exception of her desperate, insane obsession with Edward, Victoria was a woman who knew when to cut her losses. As soon as Tanya denied her, she sent two burly men to drag her screaming to the darkest bowels of the castle.

If she wouldn't help me, then I would ruin and damage her, she thought, and a giddy feeling enveloped her entire being.

When they reached the last gates of the dungeon, she ordered the two men to open the heavy iron and they pushed Tanya inside.

Victoria stayed outside of the cell, her ears straining in anticipation of Edward's reaction when he saw his traitorous wife.

She smiled a feral smile.

* * *

[Edward]

The sound of the heavy metal clanging made him look up. His jaw dropped at the sight of his wife, pushed rudely inside the dark prison.

His first panicked thought was of his son. "Willie? Where is he, Tanya?"

Tanya's eyes bulged wide and still kneeling on the ground, she brought both of her hands to her mouth to stifle her sobs.

"God damned it all to hell, Tanya! Where is my _son_!"

His roar spurred her to action, hearing his anxious growl. She stood up and flew to his side. He wanted to shake her shoulders and snap her out of her hysteria but he was chained to the damned wall.

"Edward, oh God, Edward. He is safe, our son is safe!" She threw her arms around his torso and he grunted when she pressed her face against his wounds.

"Well, well … the loving wife has come …" said the wretched Victoria.

He closed his eyes when he heard that evil voice. His entire body rippled with hate and renewed revulsion.

"Victoria," he growled. "Let my wife go. She has nothing to do with this madness."

And she laughed and laughed, even clapping her hands in glee.

Tanya cringed and she stepped away from him, her face averted.

"Oh, I beg to differ, my love," Victoria crooned. She slowly approached him and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "She has secrets to tell you." She giggled and the sound scraped him raw.

Edward would have loved to spit on her face but he was a Kent and even direly provoked, he wouldn't disrespect a woman, even a woman as blighted as Victoria.

"Enough, you vile woman! Release her!" he snarled.

She walked away, still giggling uncontrollably, and stood behind Tanya.

She placed her hands on her shoulders. "My love, it pains me to have to tell you that -"

He watched in shock as his normally timid wife suddenly whirled around and pushed Victoria roughly. She landed in a heap on the dirty, wet floor and Tanya jumped on her. The scuffling sounds drew the guards inside and they pulled his wife off their mistress.

Instead of turning on Tanya, Victoria again laughed her mad cackling squeals and pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"My love, here stands before you a desperate woman. Shall I tell you why?" Victoria danced around the now restrained Tanya and said in a sing-song voice. "Your wife has betrayed you - you and your entire proud family, the most powerful clan in the kingdom! Duped! Why, I wouldn't be surprised if little Willie wasn't even your flesh and blood!"

Her words – even as his mind was screaming at him that they were lies – impacted on him like a ton of bricks.

Edward swung his startled gaze at the wide-eyed Tanya. She had managed to free her one arm from her captor and slapped her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge with pain and horror.

_No._ This was not happening.

_God Help me, these were all lies!_

He narrowed his eyes at Victoria, his heart turning into stone.

"Victoria," he said softly, hoarsely. "You will say no more and you will not harm my wife."

The witch's hard eyes grew wistful and her face changed. Her mouth usually pinched and hateful at the corner, slightly softened.

"My poor love, look into your heart and you will see. This woman never loved you, was never true to you -"

"Victoria!" Tanya cried. "I-I b-beg of you -"

"No! He must know. You have made a fool of him!" With unleashed violence, she swung her left hand and slapped Tanya, hard. Her head slumped forward with a cry. With a petulant sound, Victoria forcefully grabbed and pulled Tanya's hair and raised her face to him, as if in offering. He saw a trail of blood on her bottom lip.

"This charlatan whore was in cohorts with my uncle all these years, Edward! She married you in pretense, to spy on you! To cripple your entire clan!" Victoria shrieked at him, her eyes flashing in fury.

"Enough, Victoria!" he growled.

He tried to shut down the greedy pain that was enfolding him, to keep at bay the demons that her words released in his mind. Betrayal, treachery, deception.

In the dim of the torch light, he was able to discern Tanya's haunted eyes. They said eyes were the windows to the soul and what he was seeing in hers made him clenched his jaw tight but not before he let out a low and vicious curse.

Tanya's aggrieved blue eyes revealed it all to him. The perfidy, the dishonesty. God Have Mercy on her! _What has she done?_

He wanted to shout and claw his way out of this damp hell, to spew his own hateful words at her, at them, to leave him alone to his damnation. Killing him now would have been the most charitable and gracious act anyone could lay on him.

He couldn't even hide under the veil of dignity anymore. He took a deep breath and prayed it would be his cursed last.

No! God, _no_.

"Tanya ..." he rasped, his voice shook. "Did … did you betray me?"

She would have fallen to the ground if not for the two men holding her up. She wouldn't raise her head to look at his face now, concealing her expressive eyes that couldn't deceive anymore.

Slowly, she nodded her bowed head.

His heart cracked and he prayed for numbness.

Was he too late? Was his family, his son, now in grave danger because of him? Because of his forgery of a marriage?

"Who made you do it, Tanya?" he asked quietly.

"L-Lord Montgomerie," she whispered, broken.

"Is he … Willie … Is he mine?" He felt as if his heart has completely stopped beating.

At this, Tanya raised her head and frantically nodded her affirmation, and he breathed a sigh of relief for he believed her.

"Oh, Edward … I love you! P-please forgive m-me," she sobbed. "I had to do it!"

He didn't say anything for several moments. His gaze slid from hers and looked straight at Victoria.

"Give me your word. Now." As if mesmerized by the ferocity of his tone, Victoria eagerly nodded, licking her red lips. "You will let her go, do you hear me? You can do what you will with me, but leave her be."

Victoria looked down, clearly trying not to smile. "For you, my love," she whispered her agreement.

"Edward?" Tanya breathed, uncertain. She opened her mouth to say something, but the look on his face must have discouraged her.

Suddenly, he no longer felt quite angry. Instead, he felt tired, old.

"Leave me."

"Edward!" she cried, struggling against her captors.

He stared at her without any emotion.

"You are no longer my wife."

* * *

[Alice]

"I am Lady Brandon, the queen's cousin. Let me see her." She said the words as imperiously as she could. The stern-faced guard, however, did not move, not even a tiny budge.

"Forgive me, my lady, but the queen forbids anyone from entering her chambers," an apologetic voice said behind her.

"Are you the only one allowed to see her then?" Alice tried not to feel hurt and disappointed but the truth was, she _was_ hurt and more than disappointed by Bella's continued seclusion.

"Not I, Lady Alice. No one has seen her since yestermorn," said Sigourney.

Alice closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. This could not go on. She wanted, needed, to talk to Bella. _Now._

"Your grace!" she yelled, not caring about the glaring looks she was receiving from her guards. Sigourney's mouth gaped open in surprise.

Oh, God's Hell.

What could she do to me? I am her kin for Heaven's sakes, she thought.

"My lady, please! I know where he is!" The last five words were shouted louder than the rest.

She waited. They all waited. They all held their breath.

One of the guards, the tallest, visibly paled expecting his dismissal for allowing a disrespectful harridan such as herself to dare raise her voice in the presence of the queen.

Silence.

Alice placed her ear against the closed heavy doors.

Lingering silence.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping.

She turned away and had walked several steps from the door when she heard it. A sound so faint, she could have imagined it. However, the alert expressions on the guards' faces, including Sigourney's, convinced her that she didn't misheard.

The double doors cracked open and a dullish brown eye peered at her.

"You really know?" Bella whispered, torn and hopeful.

"Yes ..." She too spoke in a low tone.

The eye disappeared and Alice stepped inside the queen's chambers, finally.

* * *

[Emmett]

_Finally_, the elite scouts brought good news.

They had been searching high and low for days trying out all leads which most often resulted at dead-ends, to his growling frustration.

His focus and destination were the Montgomerie regions while his father was combing the Argyll lands to the western borders.

"Dem_ luchd siubhail_ sight'd a band o' de Marseille's fowks headin' west o' Montgomerie's stronghold, sir, five days' past," Kent's tracker reported.

"This has been confirmed?" he snapped.

"Aye, me lord!"

Emmett hurled himself back on his big steed and barked orders to ride further west. According to the map that was hastily brought up to him, there was an old fortress in the area that most thought had crumbled into ruins decades ago. If this was the direction the Montgomerie men had taken Edward, then this castle must still stand.

"Send word to my father," he instructed one of the messengers.

It was near dawn. He narrowed his eyes at the new day's approach, praying to God in Heaven that this would be the day he would find his brother, and to find him _alive_.

* * *

[Edward]

It was curiously bizarre.

He could smell the now familiar minty aroma of incense but it wasn't inducing a certain calmness and submissiveness in him. He blinked, trying to clear his head but he realized it was not taking too much of an effort to stay alert. He was awake and he was aware of his surroundings.

Even more strangely, he could hear indistinct words, words uttered by another woman. He willed the effect of incense from his mind, tried to block its enchantment from luring him back to the abyss.

_Entula __…_

There, that voice, those peculiar words.

Who was she? Why was she in his head? Instinctively, Edward tried to grasp the voice and the words for he knew they were helping him stay lucid and disenchanted.

_Eadbhard. Laita._

_Entula a' moinayamen …_

"Who are you?" he breathed.

The voice inside his head did not respond, instead it was the disembodied voice of the evil one who replied.

"Sleep, my love," she clucked.

He shuddered when he felt cold moist, slippery as slime, touch his skin.

"Take your f-filthy hands away from me," he slurred, breathing through his mouth to avoid inhaling the entrancing incense.

_Entula a' moinayamen …_

___Entula a' moinayamen …_

"Entula a' moinayamen," he mouthed lowly.___  
_

"Don't resist me, Edward," Victoria gritted out, not hearing him. "I do not want to hurt you."

He flinched when the wet, slurping cold – like a slithering snake - slid across his naked chest.

He clenched his fists tight. He was still chained to a wall but he was in a different chamber this time, not the dingy dampness of his dark prison.

Edward opened his eyes. At first he was seeing double but he tried to clear the blurry vagueness away from his vision.

Victoria. Taunting him, maligning him. Telling him about Tanya's duplicity. Married him to deceive him. Never loved him. Betrayed him. Cursed him with lies.

"You should have chosen me to be your wife, my love. I would never betray you, not I," she crooned but to his distorted mind, what he heard was her bleating.

He could feel his eyes drooping and he snapped back to wakefulness, shaking his head from side to side to keep alert.

A glint, a glance, made his eyes flutter.

Two blades, shears. Clamped together the blades formed a tube.

Victoria manipulated the shears until it opened wide, like the jaws of a rabid wolf. Inside the tube of blades were sharp spikes.

"I love you, Edward," she whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks.

He watched her dead eyes and ignored her hands. She gasped and dropped the shears. He felt her cold hands on him and blissfully, he was indifferent, unresponsive. He was benumbed.

He shut his eyes and tried to hear the words … words that would save him.

_Entula a' moinayamen …_

_Yes._

_I remember_, he told the voice calmly. He wanted to reassure the woman who was helping him.

_"Diola ile_," he whispered, the words pulled from the deepest, unknown part of his soul.

* * *

*****a/n**

Elvish translations:**  
**

Diola ile – Thank you

Entula a' moinayamen - Remember (Remember who you are)

Laita – Bless or "Bless you"

Gaelic:

Luchd siubhail - tinkers or the traveling people


	30. Revenge

**Stephenie Meyer's** Breaking Dawn is a reference to the beginning of Bella's life as a newborn vampire. (The original title was Forever Dawn, which Stephenie said later was a "cheesy" title).

**Chapter27/Revenge**

[Argyll]

He watched one of his remaining loyal barons standing nervously before him, a squirming, squawking bundle in his awkward arms.

James smiled. He stood up and walked around the bundle, rubbing his chin. He drew a knife from his belt and inspected its sharpness closely.

Should he do it now? Or prolonged his enemy's suffering?

He knew he had not much to look forward to, certainly not the cursed crown anymore. Not this time. He still had gold or what was left of his hoard, blast this war! But he would lose his lands and what was the use of his gold when the duchy of Argyll was destroyed?

What he still had, what he could use, was revenge and he was looking at the greatest opportunity to execute that revenge. He eyed the squirming swaddle of clothes with malicious satisfaction. This shrieking creature was the next Duke of Kent.

He flashed his demented smile. He should end this little life now and be done with it!

He barked laughter, startling the red-faced child. God, how loud could a little man become? This child was really screeching the manor down.

Looking critically at Cullen's spawn, James made his decision.

* * *

[Victoria]

She watched him sleeping all night, her eyes on his perfection.

She had her blades, her shears and sharp spikes. She had him spread eagled on her bed. But, she couldn't do it.

Victoria had prepared herself for this. She knew how to use her instruments, how to wield them until all she could hear were the screams and the begging. Oh, she had left her mark on him, no doubt about that. He was hers and he would always remember.

She frowned. She would have preferred that he didn't remember but her spells, the incense and the potion had ceased working. Edward was awake the whole time, albeit weakened and sluggish by her potions, but stubbornly keeping his glaring eyes on her.

It must be _her_ blood in him, that he was able to resist her. The witch's bastard. Was it your mother's power that lay dormant in you, my Edward? She thought, gazing down at him, naked on her bed.

Slowly so as not to wake him, she sat on the bed and ran the tip of a fingertip along his stubbly jaw line.

_Bastard born you may be, my love, but you are my everything._

* * *

The year before she was wed to Argyll, Victoria accidentally stumbled on Lady Esme Brandon's darkest secret.

Her father Lord DuFour, had schemed his way into marrying one of the Montgomerie women. She was the result of that plot. But, her father was not one to blindly follow orders and only when required that he would align his greed and ambitions with that of the duke to get his way.

Like everyone in her family, each lord and lady maintained spies in every household. Trust was a foreign word and it was not given freely or capriciously, and the only time a Montgomerie was deemed harmless was when a Montgomerie was dead.

On that fateful day, Lord DuFour secretly received a messenger to their house. This messenger was a known wisewoman, the same wisewoman that taught Lady Brandon everything she knew of witchery. But even witches need riches, perhaps even more so than court lords do. They may not need the authority of a title but gold was enough power to achieve their goals, or their ends.

With a handful of gold coins, the witch told her father everything he wanted to know about Lady Brandon and Lord Kent.

Victoria was stunned to hear of Edward's true parentage. She didn't know what her father intends to do with this powerful secret but she vowed that no one else would hear of it and to this day, she was certain that only her father and herself know of Edward's bastard origins. Lord DuFour never even realized that his daughter was keeping the same explosive secret.

* * *

_I will protect you, my love_, she thought. _You will be more powerful than you are now._

Dreamily, her hand glided ever so softly along his body. When her caressing fingers reached his navel, she paused, breathing hard. Slowly, she let her fingers circle lower and lower and she gazed at the invisible spirals she was creating, mesmerized, until she was lightly gripping him.

_I have to conjure up a more powerful __potion_, she thought, lovingly tracing his length. _A spell that befits the son of a witch._

* * *

[Alice]

"Tell me again," the queen demanded.

She had been summoned to her chambers this morning as soon as she rose from her own bed.

Bella had listened to her quietly when she told her yesterday what she had seen in her visions, where Edward was and what was happening to him. The queen was facing the windows the whole time, almost as if hiding her anguish from her.

Her heart went out to her for she could feel her worry and desperation. Bella's internal agony and torment was like a living thing stroking her skin, so powerful were the emotions emitting from her.

Standing before her now, her cropped hair all over the place, Bella did not resemble the beautiful, shy but courageous young queen that she knew her to be. What Alice was seeing now was but a shadow of the real Bella.

"My lady -" she stopped. She couldn't even bring herself to call her by her given name. Even though her cousin was obviously suffering, in this state she was devastatingly regal, and so heartbreakingly alone.

"My lady, Sir Emmett will find Lord Kent, this I have seen and the Spirits have spoken. He _will_ find his b-brother," she stammered, and she struggled to keep her emotions in check. In that moment, perhaps inundated by the emotions roiling off Bella's, Alice suddenly remembered who Edward was, for her. He was _her_ brother, too. And she might not know him, but she could feel the same blood, her mother's blood, singing inside and around him, calling to her. _Entula, entula, entula._

She breathed deep, calming herself. "Sir Emmett is riding to a destination where he will locate Lord Kent as we speak," she continued quietly, firmly.

Bella stood still, her hands tightly fisted as if trying to control her reaction to her words.

"And that … _that witch_ has him?" she said with venom.

Alice flinched. She wasn't insulted by the withering, disparaging tone she used when she said witch. She knew where Bella was coming from. Still, the queen had summoned another witch to find her beloved and she only hoped that she wasn't about to put to death everyone practicing magic in her kingdom.

_As what__ her notorious great sire, Blackheart did so long ago_, she thought, wary.

Over 100 years ago, old King John the Blackheart, already insane with his unconstrained fervor and craving for more power and violence, had declared sorcery of all kinds evil and he had every witch and warlock condemned to hang, burned or drowned, sometimes all three punishments would be visited on the most popular witch of the time.

Blackheart never liked to share power and a witch, even a pauper, was a threat to his lust for omnipotence.

Alice watched her queen now, trying to sensate her mind and emotions. There was anger, frustration, fear and love. All these feelings were directed at the missing Edward. This she could clearly see and palpate even if she didn't have the gift of the Sight.

She braced herself, steeling her spine for there was one more message that she had to tell the queen.

The night before, she received another vision. She wasn't sure how Bella would react to this vision but she must remain firm and decisive.

"My lady, there is more," she began.

Bella was still unmoving. She cleared her throat, in case she hadn't heard her. She waited for her acknowledgement.

"Speak," she said at last, her tone low.

"I must ask your permission to travel to Cullen Hall," she said in a rush. "Immediately."

Bella turned and stared at her. She narrowed her eyes as if sensing a secret she wasn't ready yet to disclose.

"What is this? What else do you know … is his family in danger?"

"Your pardon, my lady, I am not certain as to why I need to go to Kent as soon as possible but I must," she insisted. She felt the queen's suspicions and her reluctance to let her journey alone.

"Then you will travel as my companion, for I go to Cullen Hall as well," she said.

Alarmed, Alice unthinkingly approached the queen. She wanted to reach out and touch her but she restrained herself. "Please, my lady, hear me. I must travel alone."

"Enough of your vague words, Alice. Tell me!" she almost snarled at her.

Alice paled, backing away. She took a deep breath and prayed to God and Mother Mary for strength.

"My lady … _Bella_," she looked up and straight at her. "Bella, you have always trusted my … gift … and I pray you have no reason to stop doing so. I tell you now, for the sake of the blood that we share, cousin, please, _trust me_." She paused, taking another self-sustaining breath. "Bella, you must leave Aufforest and go home, to London. You are needed there and it will be the safest place for you to be. Summon the queen mother and Angela from Forks Hall. You _must _be a family again and only then will the kingdom, _your kingdom_, will be united and secured once more."

Bella stood quietly, her eyes fixed on her. Alice did not drop her gaze from hers, and met her eyeball for eyeball.

The queen said nothing, so Alice added deliberately, "I give you my life and my word, my lady."

Bella marched over to her until their faces were quite close. Unblinking brown orbs stared right through her brown-greenish ones.

"Go," she whispered, suddenly deflated. Her eyes softened and she was Bella again. "Tell Edward … tell him …" Her trembling lips formed a thin line, preventing her from uttering the words. She struggled to remain composed, but a single tear rolled down her ashen cheek.

Alice nodded, but just barely. She knew what the queen wanted said without the words.

She watched as the queen stalked from the room.

* * *

The next morning, two parties left Aufforest Hall. The queen's entourage departed in the direction of London, while a smaller band quietly headed towards Kent, to Cullen Hall.

Alice, atop a gentle mare, hung back and looked up at the clear, bright skies. She dreaded entering Cullen Hall and she absolutely feared confronting Kent, but she must do it.

* * *

[Edward]

As soon as he heard the heavy doors shut close, he jumped out of the bed and surveyed the large bedchamber, all the while hurriedly putting on his clothes and boots.

He had fooled the witch into thinking that he wouldn't regain consciousness for some time, his senses abused by all her potions. It almost killed him to remain supine, pretending feebleness. All the long night it was an effort to keep his eyes open.

He slid to the side and peeked out of the windows, which were carelessly open. It was a long drop, about six landings to the ground. He assessed the rough exterior of the tower and found footholds all along the stone walls. This would do, he thought, determined. He sent a brief prayer of gratitude to God in Heaven that the witch's chamber was apparently at the back and side of the castle tower. The grounds below were deserted.

Wasting no time, Edward snatched one of the long, thin blades on a table, shuddering a little at the thought of these sharp blades pressing against his skin the night before. He pushed the memories aside and rapidly stripped the bed of its linens. As quietly as possible, he ripped the sheets and formed a sturdy rope.

His heart stopped beating when he heard the scrape of heavy footsteps immediately outside of the chamber doors. Edward didn't think anymore but stalked towards the window, securely fastened the end of the linen around an iron spike sticking up beside the sill and hurled his body outside in one big leap.

He grunted when the entire side of his body hit the rough stones. A deep, fortifying breath later, muscles already aching from his confinement and now doubly straining with his efforts, he scaled down the walls with nothing but his sheer strength and the force of his will to survive.

He swung from side to side trying to gain footholds, slipping several times in the process. Suddenly, he heard a ripping sound and looked up in dismay as he watched the joined linens about to be torn apart, weakened by his bulky weight.

His panic turned into horror when a burly head appeared on the window, gazing stupidly back at him, mouth wide open. The guard blinked and recovering from his shock bellowed a warning to his comrades.

"Dae preesoner's escapin! Round'up dae sentinels beelow!"

"Release dae hoonds!" Another yelled from the inside, followed by a screeching woman.

"Get him! Don't let him escape you gut-wormed bastards!" Victoria screamed at her men.

Edward fought the urge to let go of the rope and risk a broken leg. He was only four landings down and he was fairly certain he would make it at this height. But could he run far enough with an injured leg?

The barking dogs, maddened by his scent, were coming from the side of the castle and within moments, they would be upon him and all would be for naught.

Edward released the rope and jumped the long ways to the dry dirt below, not even grasses to cushion his fall.

He only took a second to regain a breath and he quickly stood up and to his immense relief, both of his legs were unharmed. A self-preserving instinct made him looked up, momentarily forgetting the hounds. He froze, his blood curdling, his eyes locking on the tip of the arrow trained straight at his heart.

He couldn't look away and when he heard the hiss of the wind as the arrow was shot, he braced his body for the impact.

Edward watched as the man with the notched arrow suddenly slumped forward, the small bow still clutched in his hands, the arrow falling harmlessly at his feet. He eyed in amazement the deadly weapon sticking up at the back of the man's neck, gruesome in its unexpectedness.

"What the _fut_! Run!" A familiar voice howled at him and he snapped.

The dogs just rounded the corner and he abruptly unfroze himself and ran for all his worth. Arrows were raining all around him and it was impossible to tell if launched by foes or by his own men now arrived to rescue him. But by God's Mercy, he avoided getting hit.

He heard other arrows hissing, coming from the general direction of the woods, some finding their targets and he could hear yells of pain. The dogs were apparently smarter than the men who keep them because the hounds fell back when the volley of missiles began.

Edward flung himself into the safety of the bushes when he reached the edge of the woods, and he was immediately surrounded by Kent men.

"How many did you bring?" he panted. He stood up and grabbed an armor and sword.

"Enough," grunted Emmett.

"Let's go. The witch's still inside," said Edward. He barked orders for men to secure the north side of the castle to prevent Victoria's escape.

He swung atop a destrier and led his men to the front of the castle where chaos now ensued. Armed men, protected by poised arrows targeted at the Kent soldiers greeted them.

Undaunted, the brothers with Sir Garrett watching their backs, slashed their way inside the fort all the way to the castle steps, hacking from side to side, the arrows grazing helplessly against their iron shields.

Edward stormed through the front doors and killed as many men as he could, his one frenzied goal was to find _her_. He could feel hatred he had never felt before egging him on, violence rippling across his skin until he let out a roar.

"Victoria!" Her name echoed all around the halls and ceilings, accompanied by the clanging of heavy metals being wielded in the dance of death.

The fighting did not last long. The Kent men, while numbering only half of the mercenaries in the castle, easily overpowered their force.

* * *

Edward stood still, his narrowed, furious gaze encompassing the front hall littered with slain men.

"Are you certain?" he snarled at one of his men.

"Aye, me lord. Lady Argyll has escaped."

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading. There's a second part to this chapter.


	31. The fall

Still **Stephenie Meyer's**

**Chapter28/****The fall (or Revenge Part2)**

[Jasper]

He dreaded the message he was burdened with. He didn't even know if his brother, Edward, has been found. He absolutely hated to be the one to have to tell him and Jasper had no doubt that he _would_ be found.

That gonus gutless Argyll! For who else could have taken his nephew?

How would he tell Edward that his son had been stolen while in the midst of a mass of Cullens? Abducted while surrounded by his family and the Kent men? It was unthinkable!

He shouldn't have stayed overlong at Forks Hall. But what was he to do? The queen mother was in residence and she needed protection. He was only able to get away when word was received that the queen had summoned her family back to London. He had left the manor barely an hour after Queen Renee departed the halls, the princess in tow.

* * *

Jasper was in Cullen Hall by late afternoon. He was met by his mother as soon as he entered the castle.

"What in God's Hell happened, Mother?"

Lady Cullen flung herself into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably. "Mother, please, tell me now, all of it. I ride out at dawn."

And so the sad tale was told. First to disappear was Edward's wife, Tanya. She had been missing for three days when one of the chamber maids noticed that little Willie was gone as well.

A dark suspicion began to boil inside him. Perhaps the same culprit who snatched Tanya away was the same persons who stole Edward's child. It was fantastic coincidence!

His father had left before he was even aware that Tanya had disappeared. He knew from the scouts that Lord Kent had reached Argyll territories to find Edward while his brother, Emmett, was in the Montgomerie region.

This only leaves him as bearer of bad news and the sooner this reached his father and brother, the better chance they would have to find Edward, his nephew, and the still missing Tanya.

Jasper frowned, regarding his mother thoughtfully.

"Are we certain that Tanya was abducted?"

Not waiting for his mother's reply, he instructed one of the pages to call in the castle overseer. He need not wait too long for Sir Ludwig was already striding across the hall.

"Sir Jasper, I would have been here sooner but a tracker has arrived." Impatiently, he waved his hand at someone trailing behind him and a travel-weary young knight came forward.

"Sir, Lord Kent has been found, Sir Emmett sends word," he reported, presenting him the scroll with his brother's seal.

At this his mother gasped and grabbed the lapels of the poor boy's tunic. "My son is alive? Tell me my Edward is _alive _for the love of_ Mother Mary!_"

"My l-lady, Lord Kent lives," the tracker stammered, looking to Sir Ludwig for help.

Lady Cullen turned to her son, her teary eyes now gleaming with renewed hope. "You must ride now, Jasper, and go to your brothers. Edward would find little Willie and Tanya, I know he will!"

* * *

[Bella]

"A messenger from Lord Kent has come, your grace," Lord Oxley stiffly reported, calling from outside of her tent.

Bella stumbled back, staring blankly at the tent door, her eyes alight with alarm. She moved her head slowly, scared at what she might hear, trying to convince herself that Rupert Oxley's voice wasn't carrying a dreadful undertone.

_Mother Mary_, _Saints in God's Heaven_, I beg you all. Let Edward be alive! She prayed fervently. Abruptly she sat down on a stool, wringing her hands.

She couldn't help it, she was expecting the worse. Edward has been missing for a sennight and a day. She had imagined him in the worse situation and most of these terrible visions ended with him dead. Each frightful scenario had a dead Edward in them!

"Your grace," the young earl said louder.

"My lady," a softer female voice echoed by her side.

Sigourney yelped a moment later but did not move away from her.

Bella looked down and quite blandly, observed that her hand had wrapped tightly around her waiting maid's elbow, she could feel her bones she was so thin, albeit muscled.

She had apparently grabbed her in her anxiety. Bella unlooped her hand from her arm.

"Should I let him in, my lady?" Sigourney asked tentatively.

Curtly, tensed, she nodded her head. Inside her mind and body, she felt both empty and raging. She inhaled sharply and held it, she couldn't quite breathe.

Sigourney quickly slid the tent door aside and Lord Oxley strode in, bowing.

"Speak," she mumbled, her lips numbing.

"Lord Kent – Edward Cullen that is – has been found and now rides with his brother as we speak, your grace."

Bella wanted to stand, make some royal but rigid gesture and dismiss everyone in her tent. But she just stared at the viscount, mute, not seeing him at all.

All she could think of was that Edward was _alive_. He was safe. He was coming back to her.

It took everything she had but she managed to stand there in front of one of her most trusted subjects and slowly inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Kent is now restored," she said, calmly. She was relieved that her voice was not shaking. "They are headed to London." It wasn't a question. She knew Edward would come to her. He simply has to find her as soon as possible.

Lord Oxley shifted and his eyes looked down. His hesitance raised the tempo of her heartbeats. She blurted out - "is Edward injured? Is he _whole_?" She winced at her tone, which was too overwrought. She barely stopped herself from grabbing his tunic.

"The messenger has confirmed Lord Kent's constitution, my lady, he is hale." He cleared his throat. "The Cullens are riding to the western shoreline, at Meols Stone to the southwest, where Lord Argyll has been spotted, fleeing," he spat that last word.

Bella frowned. She had battalions searching for the betrayer. Finding her traitorous uncle was not Kent's mission. They were supposed to follow her to London and secure the castle for her, her family and kin, and her court.

"What else do you know?" she asked sharply. Edward must have had a dire reason to hunt the duke, she thought, worried.

"Lord Kent's son and wife were taken."

For a moment, she didn't move. She closed her eyes and felt faint. _Oh God, my Edward …Oh my poor love!_

Her lips quivered and she bit the bottom part hard. Her eyes flashed, first in concern and then in anger. She had had enough of the doomed Argyll. This was the _last thing_ that damned pretender would ever do! She vowed.

"Alert the barons, Rupert. We ride to Meols Stone."

* * *

[Argyll]

A day's ride and he would be leaving this accursed and stinking country for good.

He looked over at his general as he stood, and his face registered absolutely no emotion whatsoever.

Probably bidding his time to skewer me behind my back and steal my gold, James mused. Truly, he knew exactly what he was thinking for he himself would kill anyone bearing more gold than him.

He really should have paid more attention to the warnings of his whore of a mother, now abandoned in Argyll. He hoped the queen would lock her up – her and her hoard of lovers - and throw away the key.

He took a long sip of his ale, peering over the edge of his cup as he surveyed his men. Each one of them would gladly stab him behind his back, sheep-swiving, gut-scrapping, cuz-licking whoresons!

He would spit at all of them and keep his gold, he snarled to himself. And the thought positively warmed his wretched soul.

He took a bite of stale bread and nearly choked. Damned it! He was reduced to this, given food not fit for a noble of his esteem. God's Hell he was almost king!

He threw the bread away and barked orders to ride out as soon as the skies lightened.

He couldn't wait to get out of England.

James wasn't waiting for an army to capture and chain him, and he would rather end his own life than face death in the most humiliating way.

Beheading while being jeered at and plastered with rotting vegetables was the easier punishment. He didn't think he would get away that easy. He didn't only attempt to kill the reigning queen, but he was the reason why a young slip of a woman was now on the throne.

His greater crime was that he had King Charles assassinated. God's Hell, it was his own sword wielded by his very own hand that struck the king, his own smirking face the last face he saw. Kent knew this since he didn't exactly hide his crime. He was absolutely proud that he had killed the king, his own uncle. The throne should have been his, by this right, by this act of violence.

Now he was a traitor and all was lost when he could have succeeded in everything if it wasn't for that Cullen whoreson!

He gritted his teeth and swore viciously, then he thought of the little boy and he smiled evilly. Ah sweet _revenge_, when he alone had the power of life and death. He felt like a king.

And, damned his hide, he would die like the lowest defamer the courts would brand him to be.

Betrayer he might be, but he was a king killer and he was the bravest man that would ever walk this land! He was James, Duke of Argyll, the man who should be king! He laughed and flopped back on the grass, ignoring the sharp glances of his men.

James knew beheading was too merciful for his atrocities.

During Blackheart's time, the crime of treason and traitors were punishable by and condemned to death by impaling. At that thought, blood left his face and he felt lightheaded.

It was agonizing torture and execution, and when done correctly, he could live for three long, excruciating days before death claimed him. His body would be pierced through his arse, the end of the pole would stick out, quite horribly, through his gaping mouth. The stake would be hammered to the ground and he would be displayed, dying slowly and painfully, and the last he would ever hear were the sneers and taunts of the entire kingdom.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't think he needed to wait for the sun to rise to traverse to the shoreline.

"We ride!" he called out. By morning, he would reach Meols Stone.

* * *

[Emmett]

"Where's Edward?" Jasper said urgently, jumping off his exhausted horse.

Emmett didn't reply, instead narrowing his eyes at his older brother. He had never seen him this intense, he thought. There was a savage urgency about him.

"What's afoul?" He blocked his brother's path and stared him down.

"If you will let me pass you can hear it when I tell Edward," he gritted out.

"I am here," said Edward behind them. "It is good to see you healed, brother." This was the first time since they parted ways almost seven weeks ago that his two brothers had seen each other.

Jasper stalked to his brother and clasped a tensed hand on his shoulder. "Edward, your son and wife are missing," he said without preamble.

Emmett moved so fast he literally crashed against Jasper, demanding he repeat what he had just said. "Devil's rotten teeth, Jasper, how the hell did this happened!"

His brother's fingers bit into Edward's shoulders who stared unblinking at Jasper. "I tell you certain, brother, I was at Cullen Hall. They are gone."

He thought his brother would remain frozen in shock and he would have to douse him with cold water but in a flash of motion, Edward hauled Jasper until they were nose to nose. Jasper couldn't look at him, almost as if afraid of what he was seeing in his eyes.

"When did they take my son? And _who_ took him?" His eyes narrowed and focused dangerously on Jasper. "Was it _Tanya_?"

"What has Tanya got to do it?" Emmett blurted out, bewildered. Why would his brother even suspect his wife of abducting their only child?

Edward let go of Jasper and he turned around and quickly strode to a secluded thicket of trees. For a moment he gaped at his brother and they exchanged scowling but confused looks, and then followed Edward to the edge of the woods.

He was about to question him on his suspicions of Tanya when his brother abruptly faced them and the look on his face, his eyes afire with something terrifying and bitter, stopped him cold. Suddenly, he didn't want to know.

"My _wife_ visited me while the witch had me chained in her dungeon," he said softly, an underlying menacing tone lacing his almost bored voice.

Emmett's first thought was that it couldn't be Tanya, his brother was mistaken or worse, had fallen into an evil enchantment. The Tanya he knew who was docile, sweet and always amenable wouldn't know how to harm anyone, and certainly not her husband and son.

"That worm-puking bastard, Mullineaux, was Montgomerie's crony and they have plotted to marry one of their own to us, to _me_," his brother growled. "And spy on the family. Tanya admitted all of this while I was a captive."

Edward paced away from them and restlessly moved back and forth in a straight line, clenching and unclenching his fists. "She must have taken little Willie and brought him to that bastard rutting Argyll." Finally, he stopped his agitated pacing and looked at them, his eyes were lost and he seemed beyond them. "_God _help that clapper-clawed _whoreson_ if he has harmed my son," he said in awful voice.

It was Jasper who moved first, and spoke first. "We will get your son back, Edward, or die trying," he swore.

Emmett nodded jerkily. He couldn't think of anything to say, too choked with shock at Tanya's deception and the unknown fate of his missing nephew.

For several moments, nobody moved or uttered another word. He watched Edward and silently made a vow to his brother there and then, that he would avenge his misfortunes, for his trials were his own.

"My lords!" The sentry called out suddenly. "The Duke of Kent has been sighted!"

Instinctively, Emmett's and Jasper's eyes went to Edward, silently asking for his decision. His older brother just stood still, a nerve ticking near his left eye. He gave them an unreadable look and Emmett couldn't have stopped the minute shaking of his knees.

Edward was the icon of a fierce and merciless warrior. "It's not the day to tell Father," he murmured, now controlled but more lethal in his stance.

* * *

[Edward]

He didn't speak but he acknowledged anyone coming near him with his eyes.

It was best that he didn't engage in anything trivial such as talking. He didn't think too much either, not of his son, not of Bella. He didn't dwell on the betrayal and his family's tribulations. He refused to think beyond maiming and killing, and he was primed to destroy and devastate like he had never been before.

He and his brothers agreed to ride ahead and let the duke catch up with them. His father was only half a day behind them.

On the heels of Jasper's arrival scouts rode in to camp and reported that the bastard Argyll was heading to the western coastline and it was obvious that the gutless coward was intending to flee the wrath of the crown he had coveted.

Edward's lip moved in a snarl. Meols Stone was only hours away.

* * *

Vikings, pirate ships and small thieving boats were drawn to this shoreline because nobody could really see any ships or boats approaching or leaving the strand. The beach was hidden by thick foliage of shrubbery trees which, to Edward's sinister satisfaction, was perfect for their plan of attack.

The sandy trails showed hoof tracks and they estimated that about 50 men were on horseback.

Argyll must be anticipating an ambush, he thought, grim and ruthless.

Two hours later, they could at last hear the murmurs of the Argyll men, setting up camp on the shore. He knew that not all of them would board the ship but it was likely that Argyll would be carried by a boat to ferry him to a larger ship.

As planned, Edward and Jasper, under the cover of darkness, moved stealthily nearer the heavily-guarded camp to look for his son. There were several camp fires, no tent though, which was good since it was the better to see.

They had decided to risk the search because they had no idea when a ship or ships would be coming in and nighttime was as good as any time to succeed an escape.

Edward, followed by Jasper, darted from tree to tree and from rock to rock when they ran of out of the covering shrubs. It was difficult to remain hidden and soundless when they were wearing their armor and lugging broadsword and mace.

Still, they crept in, ever silent and sly.

They found no child. They crawled as near to the camp fires as they could dare, but they didn't see Willie nor heard any pip or sound from an infant. He didn't see Tanya either but he wasn't expecting her to be there.

He had concluded that Willie was not in the camp either and was about to signal to his brother to retreat when he saw the whoreson Argyll.

He just stared at him for a moment, death and condemnation coloring his eyes.

"Go back and alert the men," he whispered to Jasper. "Don't waste time and ride attacking."

His brother looked like he was about to argue and then changed his mind. Without a word or gesture, Jasper, crouched low, edged and lurked back to where the rest of their men were hidden.

Edward sat still behind the last rock which hid him from the clearing and the camp fires, still as death, his eyes stuck on Argyll. He forced his hatred and anger down, buried it deep in his bones, and silenced its restlessness for revenge until it was time.

But his worry for his son grew worse. Where the hell was his son? The pang worsened into an aching foreboding.

For what seemed like hours later, he held his breath when a twig snapped nearby and the scraping sounds of pebbles was heard, loud in the dark. The men in the nearest camp fire snapped their heads in his direction.

He couldn't risk turning around to see what or who made the noise. Quickly making a decision he stood up, sword pointed to the ground and with all the arrogance of his birth and bearing, he strode to the center of the camp, passing the stupefied men who couldn't believe his gall as he casually walked in. When he had reached the central camp fire, he called out to Argyll.

"Where is my son, coward," he said, his carrying voice was devoid of emotion.

Argyll stared at him blankly. A page hurried to his side with his armor, sword and shield, and the toad-faced scullion just stood there, letting his servant equip him with his battle gear.

When he was armored, he seemed to gain some spunk and stood straighter. He smiled and to Edward, it was like death beckoning him.

"Ah yes, dear William of Kent, beloved son of Lord Edward Cullen and his beautiful wife, the very talented Lady Tanya," he purred.

Edward stiffened and he tamped down the urge to launch at him and gut him to pieces once and for all. "You," he said forcefully, "will tell me where my son is. Name your God damned price!" he snarled.

Argyll had the audacity to laugh and to shrug insolently. At Edward's growl, he stepped back quickly and unobtrusively made a signal to his men nearby. He saw it and readied himself for an attack.

"Your son is not here, as you've realized by now," said Argyll. His eyes darted left and right and Edward noticed men coming closer, broadswords ready. "I'm afraid you will never see him again, he is lost to you," he said with false sadness.

He shuddered at the thought of never seeing his son, and paled at the image of his little Willie growing up not knowing who his family were, who his sire was.

Edward fell silent, his eyes fixed beyond Argyll. He said nothing but continued to stare.

"What are you looking at?" the whoreson, now sweating, asked nervously.

He shifted his dark gaze back to him and he smiled, baring his teeth. "I'm looking at a dead man."

And with a roar, he lunged at him and swung his broadsword in a lethal arc which Argyll deflected with difficulty. He staggered back and Edward followed giving free rein to his hate. He severed his mace with the force of his battering of his enemy's shield, which he ripped in two.

Argyll shouted for help and Edward braced himself for other attacks. He vaguely noted the sounds of men fighting all around them, the barrage and rumble of battle, the smell of bloodlust.

He had trapped Argyll into a corner, the wall of a huge rock at his back. He looked around in panic, looking for a way out, still yelling for someone to come to his aid.

"_Where is my son_!" he bellowed at him. His arm and his broadsword seemed to have a mind of its own and it was thundering what was left of Argyll's destroyed shield. It proved a poor protection as it cracked some more and fell away useless at his feet. Edward didn't waste time, he swung an arm and punched the bastard's face. He twisted his fighting arm next until he dropped his broadsword.

When Argyll slipped and fell - obviously faking it - his hand darted to his boots and Edward almost laughed for the spineless frog-gut would never change. Before he could wield the knife at him he kicked it out of his hand and using his own short knife, he stabbed the stinking bastard's open palm and impaled him to the ground.

His yelp of horror was choked off when Edward stood up and pointed the tip of his broadsword against the most vulnerable part of his neck, reminiscent of that time long ago when this same coward tried to maim him through trickery.

But no, he would not kill him yet. He bent down and cleanly removed his knife from his hand. Blood gushed out and Argyll whimpered, he would have probably fainted if Edward didn't sneer at him and his squeamishness. He stepped back and kicked Argyll's sword in his direction. "Get up you cow-doot," he snarled.

Argyll grabbed his broadsword and stood up swinging which Edward easily repelled. This continued for several moments – Argyll bouncing like an idiot and Edward warding off each puny attack. The sounds of battle were waning and he knew without looking that his men were winning.

He also knew that if he could, he would have to bring in the bastard alive to meet his punishment before the queen, but not before he has told him where his son was.

With his last hacking assault, Edward had enough. "It has ended, Argyll. You have lost. You are no more," he growled, lowering his sword. "I will spare you your life now if you tell me the location of whom I seek."

"Never!" he howled, springing at him, sword raised.

Argyll was doomed and Edward was too much of a warrior to let him live. He let loose his bloodlust and with no more thoughts to his head, only his instinct to kill dictating his entire being, he dealt the fatal blow.

The once self-declared king stood before him bleeding, his body riddled with mortal wounds.

Still standing but wavering, Argyll apparently had enough strength to laugh.

"I d-don't have your s-son," he stuttered, blood spilling out of his mouth. He had a dying man's grim grin, blood and all.

He swayed, his breathing becoming shallow.

"V-Victoooria has h-h-," he rasped, his voice fading. He coughed up blood and buckled on one knee. He raised his head, nodded weakly at him and tilted his head to the side. "I w-wisssh you joy w' th-the witch."

The bastard drooped and collapsed, and lay dead at last.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thank you for reading. Part 3 is ending, just one big chapter left.

Part 4 is entitled "_Mo chuisle mo chroi_".


	32. Revelations

**Stephenie Meyer** said Twilight's original title was – you'll never guess it – "_**Forks**_"

**Chapter29/Revelations**

[Carlisle]

**Argyll Castle, three**** days before meeting up with his sons near Meols Stone**

Taking the once powerful stronghold had been easy.

Riding into the mostly deserted grounds, Carlisle knew the castle had been abandoned but for old men and women, and a crowd of mothers with their children whose fathers have left to fight the ill-fated war.

He also realized, scanning the vacated grounds and hall with narrowed eyes, that his son was not imprisoned there. Nevertheless, his men combed and scoured the whole castle with the exception of the private chambers. Those rooms he would inspect himself and he knew who he would encounter up there.

The servants remained in the hall simply because they had nowhere else to go. When a stronghold surrenders, the household attendants, laborers and craftsmen employed by the lord of the keep were by Law of Forfeit, absorbed by the conquering lords, as is the yeomen, peasants and villains occupying the vast Argyll lands.

After his men has cleared the halls and declared it safe, Carlisle strolled in and took stock of the opulence of his surroundings. He had been in Argyll before of course. Many occasions in the past, King Charles hosted court meetings within these halls and the duke had to oblige his royal guests.

The sound of running footsteps caught his attention and he spun around.

He didn't have to drag her from her chambers after all for the lady of the manor was already hurrying towards him, followed by her frightened maids. When she was near enough, he bowed politely.

"Lady Argyll," he said smoothly. No one was surprised that the bastard has left his own mother to her fate.

He stiffened when the woman walked too near him. One of his men moved as if to block her but he raised his hand to stop him. She noticed and she gave him a cold smile.

"I do not carry a wee knife, my dear Carlisle, trust me for the sake of my close regard to your wife," she simpered.

He nearly snorted at that statement since the whole kingdom knew the old duke's widow and his wife, Elizabeth, were not friends.

Lady Argyll drew closer and whispered near his ear. "I have a parting gift for you, Carlisle. It is my way of showing to you and the queen of course, that I seek nothing but her grace's clemency."

"Do you come now to ask for asylum?" he asked, subtly signaling his men to move away. The queen would likely grant absolution to the traitor's mother but she would not be allowed to stay anywhere in this region. It is highly likely that the queen mother would intercede for her and send her back to her home lands far north, her dowager title intact.

"I wish to live past my son's horrid mistakes which I assure you, I have nothing to do with," she said with insincere sadness. "But come, I invite you, take a few of your men and follow me up to my chambers. You would want to see this, believe me."

Carlisle raised a brow, and not trusting an Argyll until the day he died, he cautiously followed her up the stairs. His men went ahead but stopped when they reached her closed bedchamber door.

Lady Argyll paused outside of her chambers and looked at him, waiting. Carlisle pushed opened the door and stood still when he saw who was inside. There was a long silence until he heard one of his men sharply inhale in surprise.

When he could speak again, he turned to her. "This would not grant you pardon, woman, I tell you now!" he said, furious.

Sitting on the floor by the bed was his son's wife, Tanya, and she was gagged and tied to the bed post. He quickly crossed the room and untied her restrictions.

She remained on the floor and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh beaupere! Forgive me!" Tanya sobbed. He stood up and as if afraid he would leave without her, his daughter-in-law threw her arms around his knees.

"Get up, child," he said and turned to Lady Argyll. "You will explain this at once!"

"No, no! Do not listen to her! We must find the duke, beaupere!" Tanya dragged herself up and glared at Lady Argyll. "They have stolen my son!"

Carlisle grabbed Lady Argyll's arm and demanded, "You better start talking now, woman. Where is my son and grandchild! Speak now!"

She tried to wrench her arm from his grip but his hold was iron. "Carlisle, listen to me. James was here with Edward's son and he sent the child to Victoria. I will tell you where she took him. But first, you _must_ listen to me!"

Carlisle almost flung her away from him and she stumbled against the bed post. She steadied herself and shot Tanya an accusing glare.

"Yes, it is true that James abducted the boy and he was intending to hold him hostage to force your house to yield to his demands. He wanted to negotiate a refuge and he was prepared to keep the child to ensure his safe retreat. He would have taken him all the way to France - why he is on his way now to Meols Stone! But I convinced him to send the child to Victoria so he would remain here, in England!"

Tanya screamed curses at her and Carlisle gritted his teeth, shocked that his daughter-in-law even knew the meaning of those foul words. His stern look at her quelled her from making further blaspheming remarks. While he could tell that Lady Argyll was lying about his son's intentions – and he doubted Argyll would even tell his mother of his schemes - he did believe her when she said her son was escaping via Meols Stone. There was no other secluded harbor but Meols Stone.

"Oh she can curse up a storm but she can't keep me silent." Lady Argyll sneered at Tanya. What she told him next left him reeling. "The child was taken but his mother, the dainty Tanya here, came to Argyll on her own, isn't that correct, Lady Cullen?"

"She is a spy, Carlisle," she continued, pointing a finger at Tanya. "Directly under the employ of the late Montgomerie and now, we can presume, my son's."

Carlisle has been staring at Tanya who, he noted keenly, had become subdued. Her face was white until all one could see on her face were her darkened blue eyes, round with guilt. Without removing his eyes from hers, he asked Lady Argyll, "And where is the boy now?"

There would be queries and judgment later on, he thought, impassively noting the tears running down Tanya's pale cheeks and her trembling hands. But they didn't have time for that now, nor was Carlisle inclined to investigate accusations of betrayal against his family this very moment. He ignored Tanya's pleading look and he turned his back on her.

"Tell me now, woman, where is my grandson?"

"Victoria is in Lumberland."

"Lumberland!" he thundered. The region was an attached stronghold to Kent. If the witch has sought some place of refuge there, it could only mean that one or several of his barons had betrayed him.

"My lord, your orders?" his general inquired. He gave him a look and inclined his head towards Tanya. "Bring her back to Cullen Hall." He paused, considering. He eyed Argyll's mother. "And send her to London, to the queen."

There was nothing for him there in Argyll. He must go to his son, Emmett, and continue the search for Edward in Montgomerie.

He turned back to his general. "The rest of the men will go to Meols Stone with me and dispatch trackers to confirm if Victoria and my grandson has been sighted anywhere near Lumberland."

Once Edward was returned, they would head for home and this time, to hunt for de Marseille's men and Victoria who dared hide his own blood and kin right in his own backyard, mocking him. The witch was either uncommonly clever or rashly stupid.

* * *

Three days later, he found his sons – all three of them - and his relief at seeing Edward was temporarily set aside at the sight of the carnage that greeted him at Meols Stone.

Edward's reaction to reports that little Willie was practically within a spitting distance from Kent was similar to his.

"Victoria is not stupid," his son murmured, deep in thought. "She knows I will find out and come to her."

"Son, I don't know what that witch did to you -"

"She did nothing of import to me, Father, I am well," he said coldly. In a gesture of dismissal, he strapped on his armor and mounted his horse. He turned to him, his expression still impassive. "Scouts have seen the queen's banner over the hill. I will ask you to stay here and give salutations."

There was an edge to his voice that had not been there before. The duke debated with himself if he should tell him about Tanya but decided against it. There was no time for explanations and in truth he didn't know where to start. He thought of warning his son about Lady Argyll's accusations and that he had sent his wife home to Cullen Hall. He opened his mouth and closed it without uttering a word. He opted to keep his silence, for now.

"You will rather not do that yourself?" he asked instead, watching his face carefully. There was resignation there, worry, but also strong determination to ride out as soon as possible to find his son.

Edward did not answer. He turned his head and fixed his gaze beyond the hill.

* * *

[Bella]

"I'm coming with you," she said in a tone that would discourage arguments or protests of any form.

However, Lord Kent was not easily intimidated. "My lady, it is not safe for you to be so far from London."

"I am coming _back_ with you to _Cullen Hall_, Carlisle," she repeated, teeth clenched.

She stared at him, her stance haughty. Call her weak, call her demanding, but she couldn't stay away from Edward any longer.

She wanted to throw up her hands in frustration at Carlisle for insisting she turn back and head for London. She was too upset as it was at the knowledge that she had just missed Edward by mere hours. Why didn't he wait for her?

They rode to Meols Stone at an ungodly pace spurred by fear and excitement, but mostly elation that she would be seeing him again.

Amidst all the horrors of war, it was only thoughts of Edward and her love for him that has kept her sane. She wasn't obliviously self-absorbed, she knew he has his own life, his own family and other moral obligations that came before the kingdom. But knowing that he still exists somewhere was enough for her to go on.

She needed to see him, just one more time, before she returned to London.

Mother Mary! He had killed her worst enemy thereby eliminating the last and greatest threat to her life. Granted, Victoria was still alive and at large but every force of power in the kingdom would be looking for her and Edward's son.

Bella closed her eyes, hating herself for the rush of longing that swept over her.

"My lady …" Lord Kent interrupted softly.

She shook her head wordlessly, without opening her eyes. She was exhausted. They all were.

"Very well, my lady," the duke said, resigned. "But if you will indulge us, please allow my son Jasper to escort you to Forks Hall instead, where it is safer."

"Is Cullen Hall not safe?" She had already informed Jasper that Alice was on her way to Kent and she was probably there by now. She wouldn't want her cousin to come to harm or any of the Cullen clan for that matter.

"Pardon me if this will come across as impudence, but there are some … family matters that needed to be settled, my lady," said Lord Kent vaguely.

Bella frowned and she looked up at him. The duke remained silent, eyes cast down.

There was a movement behind her. Sir Jasper was standing patiently there, waiting for her.

She sighed and didn't say another word. What did it matter? Edward has come back. She would _try_ to be patient for a few days more and leave the Cullens to deal with their private troubles. She would wait for Edward in Forks Hall.

* * *

[Edward]

It was not yet dawn when they rode inside the large keep and even at this timid hour before the rush of morning activities, his mother was waiting for him. He didn't wonder anymore how she knew he was coming home.

After the hugs and cries, the maternal reprimands followed by more sobbing, his mother was finally quiet.

By then the castle was waking up and news that he was home brought everyone into the hall, cheering. The shouts of greetings were accompanied by an undercurrent of distress for his missing son and while they all tried to hide it, an uneasiness that had nothing to do with little Willie's disappearance permeated the hall.

His mother led him and Emmett to a secluded corner of the great hall. There were tables and benches and in one of the smaller chairs, his mother sat down. She looked up at him, practically begging him with her eyes to say something.

Edward was perplexed. "I will find little Willie, Mother, I promise you that," he said, only wanting to give assurance and comfort. They weren't planning on staying long. They were only waiting for scouts' and trackers' reports and as soon as they have leads, they would resume the search for Willie.

"My son, your father had Tanya locked up in the tower," she said nervously, but her eyes were sharp and trained solely on him.

He stared back at her, unmoving. She continued to look up at him searching for answers, and all he could think of was that his father _knew_.

He heard Emmett swore under his breath, darting concerned eyes towards their mother.

Edward was silent for a moment still, staring at his mother. His heart began to pound with renewed anger at the woman he had pledged himself to share his life with, the same woman who had a hand in endangering his little boy.

"Edward … your wife -" his mother began anxiously. Her hand went to her chest and she too seemed paralyzed.

"She is dead to me."

* * *

It was difficult for Edward not to give the answers his mother was seeking and had every right to know, but he has decided to wait for his father. It wasn't long before the duke arrived, which was night of that same day. Jasper arrived almost at the same time.

He didn't ask about Bella, whom he knew Jasper escorted to Forks Hall. He couldn't think of her now, he couldn't let himself be distracted from his mission of finding his son. It took much of his will, but he pushed aside his thoughts, his worry, and his longing for her.

There was silence in the hall now. Without any particular emotion, he told his parents about Tanya's deceit, adding his own suspicions on the extent of the plot to bring down Kent. No one interrupted him and he could hear the dullness in his voice. He turned to the duke and his father recounted what Argyll's mother had told him and how he found out about Tanya.

"She is a traitor to this family and therefore to be held prisoner," his father declared. His words rendered his mother speechless, her face drained of all color.

His father, Emmett and Jasper were enraged by Tanya's betrayal but his mother's reaction surpassed their anger.

Her fury over Tanya's deceit was stunning to witness. "I treated her like the daughter I never had," she whispered in a tone laced with both heartache and wrath.

This was true. Ultimately it was his mother's ready acceptance of Tanya that sealed the negotiations. Edward would not have tied himself to someone without his mother's approval, despite his father's authoritarian insistence.

Tanya's crime was not only treachery and treason against the Cullens and the queen, but her worst sin was betraying Lady Elizabeth Cullen's trust and true affection for her. She had embraced her as her daughter since the day of the wedding, guided her and cared for her in her new role of wife and mother.

His brows knit with worry, watching his mother's agonized expression. This was one more transgression that Montgomerie and Argyll - and may their souls rot for all eternity in hell! - had committed against his family.

Abruptly, his mother stood up and stalked across the hall to march up the stairs to the towers.

The men looked warily at each other.

Jasper blinked and unhurriedly stood up himself. "Someone should see to it that, err, no one was too distraught," he mumbled. He strode after his seething mother.

* * *

"Will you punish her by death?" His mother's words had everyone stopping whatever it was they were doing. It was deep in the night but no one was tired.

No one asked her what had transpired in the hour that she had confronted her erstwhile daughter-in-law, although Jasper stood outside of the tower room prepared to stop any acts of violence if it would come to that.

The immediate family was at the small hall, alone but for a few of the high-ranking barons who were all familiar with the situation.

There were murmurs all around, all mixed reactions.

"Elizabeth …" the duke started to say but stopped when his mother grabbed his arm and looked up at him, her eyes which earlier were furious were now earnest and urgent.

"No, do not do it, Carlisle! For the sake of our grandchild," she said.

His father hesitated and turned to look at Edward. His mother followed his gaze and was now staring at him, too. "Your son would never forgive you for killing his mother, even in the gravest of crimes," she said, her voice shaking.

Edward just sat there, cold and calm.

What he couldn't tell his mother at that moment was that death was never a punishment that he even considered for the woman he once called his wife.

Because she was the mother of his son, he would not condemn her life or let her suffer a life time of imprisonment. There were more to this than her betrayal and they would have to drag every sordid detail out. For the sake of his son, he would hear his mother's defense but while mercy could be granted, forgiveness would not be given.

His father was still silent and his silence was indication of his acquiesce of his right to make the decision, to pass judgment without trial.

In a quiet voice, Edward said, "She will release me from this marriage and the Church will declare it annulled."

What would come after need not be said anymore, he thought, grim.

His mother slowly nodded her head, her expression weary and drained.

He stared at his father and the decision was passed between them.

Tanya would be banished to the nunnery for the rest of her life. That she would never ever see her son again was her penance.

* * *

It was two hours later. Edward couldn't wait anymore for the scouts which have not yet returned to the castle. Impatiently, he brushed aside his father's argument against leaving to search the land blindly as he put it.

His brothers have already said their goodbyes to their mother when a hush fell on the small hall.

"Saints in Heaven," Jasper breathed.

His brother quickly strode across the hall to reach the woman standing at the center.

When Edward saw the woman, he felt his stomach lurch. He stared at her in alarm. Only one thought entered his mind. If she was here then something wrong must have happened to -

He almost ran to her side. "Lady Alice! Has the queen been harmed? Speak now!" He almost roared at her when she just gaped at him.

She stood frozen for a moment and then her body seemed to come alive when his brother touched her face.

"My lords, I know where she took your son!"

The duke was suddenly by her side. "How do you know this, child?"

Lady Alice looked at Jasper with apprehension, her eyes asking for help.

"How she knew is not important, Father," said Jasper. "My lady, tell us where he is, quickly!"

She reached out to Edward and closed her eyes, but not quite touching him. She swayed slightly and would have fallen to the floor if not for Jasper's quick reflexes. He lifted her up and carried her to one of the benches.

She blinked confusedly, saw Edward and trained her focus on him. She sat up, straightened her shoulders and squared her jaw in determination.

"A small hut … it is near a cave that you once thought was your tomb, my lord," she said clearly.

Her eyes were unblinking as if she was seeing what she was now describing to them. "A river … near the … cave," she whispered. "There are no trees up the path leading to the cave, only black stumps that were once trees."

"Struck by lightning," Emmett mumbled, staring in dazed wariness at Lady Alice. It was a Kent legend. One stormy night, a hundred years ago, a mighty lightning tore at the tallest tree near the cave and burst it into a raging flame, scorching all the surrounding trees dotting the trail leading up to the cave.

They all knew the place she was drawing in visions. It was an old Cerridwen cave that as children, they had tried to explore but failed. Edward remembered that time when he got himself lost inside the circuituous and vast cave, thinking he was going to die slowly, alone. It was Sir Garrett who found him, weakened by hunger and thirst, two days later.

"He's in there," Lady Alice breathed. "He's in the small hut." Suddenly, she snapped out of her trance and gripped Edward's front tunic. "You must hurry! She wants to take him to the cave!"

It was a moment of indecision. On the one hand, Edward was aware that the woman was sighted and some deep part of him knew that she wouldn't lie about something of grave import. But this was his son's life and he was about to put it in a witch's hand.

It was his mother who made his decision for him.

"Go, my son." He turned to her but she was staring fixedly at Lady Alice. "I believe her."

* * *

It was agonizing torture to wait but they had no choice. After a hurried stakeout of the area, the scouts came back with reports that there were men camped near the small hut, exactly as Lady Alice described it.

Edward wanted to attack the filthy mercenary bastards even in daylight but his plans were thwarted by his more calm-minded brothers who convinced him, albeit with difficulty, to await the dark before rescuing his son.

The lack of trees and shrubbery around the cave made it impossible to get closer to the small hut. From where they were crouching low down ways, they could see four horses near the crude abode but there could be more in the woods beyond.

Night fall couldn't come quicker and before the men guarding the small hut could light fires when darkness descended, the Kent men burst from their hiding places and yelling battle cries, stormed into the open area.

Edward's swinging broadsword cleared his path for him, his two brothers protecting his back. He kicked the flimsy door open and was enraged when he found the cot empty.

The cave, he growled. He grabbed a torch and turned back. He signaled his brothers to fall back while he alone ran to the entrance of the cave.

There were no mercenaries guarding the hollowed cavern, no fires lit inside.

Edward sniffed at the dank and damp air, smelling bat dung and earth that had never been touched by the sun.

He strained to hear sounds, even the faintest of breaths, as he cautiously made his way inside the dark den.

He tried not to remember the fear and hopelessness he once felt when he was trapped within the cold wall of rocks of the cave. He forced his mind to remember which path to take, which of the holes in the rock lead to dead ends and he tried to memorize the crevices, landmarks for his way back.

And then he heard it, a tiny, eerie sound, like winds whispering. A prickle of something not of this world touched his skin and he shuddered.

He remembered something else. Years ago, as he lay on the rough stones thinking that he was dying, he prayed to the Holy God as he had never prayed before. He knelt in the darkness and made a vow to God that if he saved him, he would raise his sons in his sacred image.

Edward went still and repeated that same prayer a long time ago.

It was while in prayer that the sounds he heard came back in a more distinctive noise. He snapped his eyes opened and in a flash of motion, crashed through one of the gaping cavity along the rocks. He quickly followed the source of the echo, his heart skipping beats for he knew that sound. It was of a child crying.

"I knew you would come," a disembodied voice trilled.

His head swung around the darkness, locating her voice. His blood froze when she started cooing and hushing the muffled sniffling of his son.

"Drop your sword and the torch on the ground, my love," she murmured.

His pulse hammering with the force of his restraint, he slowly complied.

Victoria stepped inside the glow created by the torch fire and his eyes at once stayed glued on the squirming bundle in her arms.

"Put my son gently on the ground, Victoria, and you can leave," he said softly. He would say anything and do every foul deed to protect his son. He swore to himself that he would hunt the witch to the ends of the earth, find her and end her madness once and for all.

"Would you really? Would you let me go?" she whispered, sounding happy. He cringed at the bright look in her insane eyes. "I didn't take him, my love. My husband sent your little Willie to me. I would never do this to your son," she insisted.

"Do as I say and leave," he said, hiding his impatience and fear for one wrong word could end his son's life.

She stared at him suspiciously for so long that his hand itched to grab the child from her arms and kill her instantly. Before his thoughts could be manifested into quick, reckless actions, Victoria crouched on the ground and eyes trained on him, placed the swaddle of clothes on the cold stone.

In a blink, a glint of steel flashed and he lurched forward only to stop when Victoria threateningly pointed the tip of the blade against his son's exposed chest.

Victoria looked up at the torch and sword on the ground beside him then at him. She inclined her head and he understood. He kicked both torch and sword in her direction, away from his son but nearer to her other side.

She remained crouched over his child and he poised himself to launch at her as soon as she tried to escape.

"Don't," she said softly, reading the intent in his eyes. Carelessly, she removed her gaze on him and looked down at his son. Her expression was almost … tender. "He is your son, Edward, your own flesh and blood, never doubt that." Her head snapped to face him. "But you are not hers, not Elizabeth's."

Edward blinked, and said nothing.

He watched the fire of conviction lit her eyes and for one crazed moment, it seemed that she was the sane one and he, the one who was demented. It was as if he were watching the world destructing before his very eyes.

One more malignant _lie_. False, defamation, deceit. _Another bloody lie_, his mind chanted.

Edward cleared his throat a number of times before gritting out. "Tell me," he croaked, numbed.

Victoria clutched the torch tightly in her hand and gingerly, eyes on him, she stood up. She only stared at him.

As he stumbled closer to his son, she backed away step by step. He bent down and clasped the body of his son, now howling loudly at the familiar sight of him, close to his chest. He needed his warmth and all the goodness and innocence of this world. He leaned over and kissed his tiny forehead.

He heard a gasp and he swallowed convulsively.

Edward took a deep breath and looked up at Victoria who had now inched her way to the entrance of the cavity.

Slowly, carefully holding his son close, he stood up and the world seemed steadier. He had felt almost off-balance while she was staring morosely at him.

Edward lifted a brow as he stared back at her. She looked almost apologetic.

Victoria extinguished the torch fire, plunging the cave into complete, harsh blackness.

"You are Esme Brandon's son."


	33. Revelations Part2

Little, Brown and Company published **Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight on October 5, 2005 (she finished the first draft August 20, 2003).

**Chapter30/Revelations Part2**

[Edward]

Edward burst from the cave out of breath, dazed and numbed. He did thank all the Saints in Heaven, the sidhe of the cave and Cerridwen that he had quickly, miraculously, found his way back in the pitch darkness. It was purely his panic over his son's survival that forced him to remember the way without falling and hurting his son.

But now that they were free of the murky cave, every suspended thought and emotions that he had sealed, contained within the darkest part of his mind came tumbling out, and the disruption to his entire being nearly brought him to his knees.

Shit-eating _mhic na galla!_ His bloody life was a lie!

_He could kill him_, that lying _whoreson!_

His men were spread out on the opening of the cave, bloodied broadswords drawn, waiting for him.

"God's Teeth, Edward, we thought the sidhe has got you!" Jasper said briskly, hurrying after him.

"The witch, did you kill her?" Emmett said tightly.

Edward shoved his murderous thoughts of his deceiving father at the back of his head when little Willie coughed and spasms wracked his small body.

He swung his gaze to Jasper and barked, "Build a fire. We are staying here for the night." His brother relayed this order to others and men scattered to clear the area of dead men.

He needed to take care of his son first. He strolled quickly to the small hut and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for – a full urn of goat's milk, a teat bottle with spout, and thick blankets.

He looked around at the roughly built cot. He saw her clothes and he could smell her here.

One of the knights entered the small hut and without looking at him, Edward ordered him to burn the house down.

* * *

"I let her go," he told his brothers, his voice low.

"Fut and hell, Edward!" Emmett hissed vehemently, keeping his tone down so as not to wake little Willie.

Jasper, who was holding the sleeping boy, just stared at him.

Edward huddled in front of the small fire, silent and brooding.

He ignored his brothers and allowed the shock of earlier to numb him. He was also getting drunk, having consumed jugs and jugs of ale.

_Bastard._

The word echoed inside his head.

He was a cursed bastard!

He repeated the poisonous word again and again in his mind, let it swirl and fester inside his skull, seep into his bones until it was the only word he could hear.

Edward shifted restlessly, his hands were shaky.

He wasn't just any whore's mistake_. _He was_ Carlisle's filthy-born bastard._

* * *

The next day, his head throbbing furiously and heart heavy with loathing, he entered the keep. His mother whisked his son away as soon as he slid off his horse.

Loud steps came from the entrance of the castle steps and he grimaced at the man rapidly striding towards them. His father called out and a yell of cheers and greetings were raised.

Staring at the duke now, he felt something squeeze in his chest.

His father missed a step when he happened to look straight in his glaring eyes. He must have seen something, or maybe just sensed that something was wrong.

Edward decided it was safer for his sanity not to wait anymore, not to drag out this miserable situation any longer.

"A word, _Father_," he bit out and the duke abruptly halted his quick walk, confused at his harsh tone. He could feel his brothers eyeing him, too.

He stalked inside the long hall and exited the far side where it was most secluded, the duke right at his heels.

When they were sufficiently alone in a darkened area of the courtyard, hidden from view by tall vines, Edward crossed his arms and turned around to stare at his father, barely restraining his contempt at the man before him.

"The witch is evil but deranged though she was, she told me two truths," he began in a low voice.

The duke imitated his stance but waited for him to continue.

"Tanya's betrayal is the first," he gritted out, his tone still dangerously low. "The identity of _who my bloody mother was,_ second."

Carlisle's reaction to his deceptively simple words was to jerk back, stumble, blood rushing out of his leonine face.

For a moment, Edward thought he had given in to his base instincts to slam his fist into his arrogant face with all his savage strength, and then proceed to pummel the living daylights out of his lying, hypocrite father.

The Duke of Kent swallowed convulsively, tried to speak and choked. His arms dropped to his sides, gaping at him in dismay and horror.

Edward recoiled from him when he took a step forward, an arm raised to implore. He narrowed his eyes at the duke's puce-punched face and he wondered if he could wish him dead, now, right in front of him.

"_Son_ -" he stuttered, grave and hesitant, but Edward couldn't contain his anger any longer.

"_I am your bastard!_" he yelled at him, his own face crimson with accusation, censure and the breaking of his faith in everything that he had ever believed in.

"No, Edward. You are my first born, Kent is yours!" His father sputtered, now raising both hands to him in beseech.

His whole life flashed before him. His loving mother, Elizabeth, and he remembered every kindness she had shown and given to him, a bastard. He saw his two brothers as young lads, following him everywhere and never questioning his authority. What would they think of him now?

He was a usurper to the Cullen name and he had no moral rights to be here, carrying the title of his house.

He was a pretender.

He was nothing.

"I am not your heir," he said in a soft, defeated voice.

"In the eyes of the kingdom and of the Church, you are Kent!" Carlisle asserted earnestly. "My heir, Edward! You are my heir! No one will say otherwise."

Edward shook his head. He staggered back a step, to get away. It was getting too difficult to speak, to look at the man he thought was honor personified.

"Son, do not break your mother's heart," his father pleaded in a hoarse voice. "Elizabeth has claimed you as her own, from the day I brought you to her. You are her son, Edward, in her heart and in her soul. She is your only mother."

Edward heard a sound and for a moment, to his disgust, he thought it was the sound of him breaking down and sobbing like a lost, little boy.

It was a deep groan, followed by a smashing noise, and followed by a grunt of pain.

He looked at his bruised fist and he came to the realization that he had hit his father after all.

* * *

Hurrying footsteps followed him and he clenched his sore fist. He swore that if his father tried to engage him, in his current state, _God's Swiving Wounds _forgive him but he would skewer him with his sword and leave him gutted and bleeding.

"Lord Kent!" a female voice called out behind him. He didn't stop his long strides, silently cursing the woman away and to leave him be.

"My lord, stop!" He ignored her.

"Edward!" Still, he walked on and quickened his pace.

"_Brother!_"

The angry thumping in his chest seemed to stop, and he abruptly stood still.

He heard her panting, trying to catch her breath, and then she was in front of him.

Edward stared at Lady Alice blankly.

She stared back.

He knew he should say something at the very least avow his gratitude for her help in finding his son, but watching her, realizing who she was to him, his _sister_, his words died in his throat.

His eyes roamed over her face instead, trying to find a similarity, in the slope of her eyebrows, in the shape of her nose. A treacherous part of his mind, the one who kept pulling away from the face of the woman who raised him, wondered if _she_ looked like her daughter. Or did he resembled her? Did she have red hair, too? Were her eyes the color of emerald?

He stared some more until finally, she inhaled sharply and her voice came out strained and choked.

"She is coming."

* * *

[Bella]

From the top of the rising bluff, Bella could see the ramparts of Cullen Hall, one of the largest castles in all of England.

She knew Carlisle would be disappointed in her for breaking her agreement to wait for them to come to her in Forks Hall, but her patience was too thin, especially since she woke up this morn looking for Sir Jasper, only to find out that he had left the keep.

Sir Garret Wessinger, left behind to supervise her protection in Forks Hall, couldn't or wouldn't tell her the reason why Sir Jasper had to leave. This could only involve Edward's missing son, she thought worriedly.

Wessinger had been loudly imploring her to stay within the safety of the stronghold but Bella has had enough of the mystery. She would have her answers today. And, if she was honest with herself, the real reason she was riding towards Cullen Hall now was because she couldn't contain her eagerness to see him and one more day of waiting was another day _too_ long.

"Do you wish to proceed to Kent castle, your grace?" Lord Oxley asked.

Her heart fluttering wildly, she nodded her assent and urged her palfrey forward.

* * *

[Edward]

He schooled his agitated features into a cool mask. He could do this. He had to, for everyone's sake.

The door to the nursery was wide open and his mother was alone inside, watching his son sleep in his crib. Slowly, he approached and gazed down at little Willie. He studied every minute plane and angle of his boy's face, committing it to memory.

"He has a slight fever but he will be well by morning. Do not worry, son," his mother whispered, patting his hand comfortingly.

Lady Cullen gasped in surprise when her son reached down and hugged her fiercely. "Edward, you are shaking!" She exclaimed, running soothing hands along his arm. "My child, oh my poor son," she cried.

Edward squeezed his eyes shut and commanded himself to be strong, to honor this woman for her sacrifices.

"I owe you everything, Mother," he said softly. He straightened, stepped back and took one last look at his son.

* * *

"You are leaving?" Jasper was scowling at him.

Emmett couldn't even string two words. He was growling and blocking his exit.

"Why in _God's Hell_ are you leaving? Do you hunt that witch by yourself? Have you lost your mind?" snapped Jasper.

Edward hissed. "I will return. That is all I am telling you."

His brothers have followed him to the stables, battering him with questions. He was expecting this interrogation after he told them he was leaving the keep and he didn't disclose where he was going, and how long he would be gone.

"I go with you," said Jasper firmly.

"_We're_ both going with you," growled Emmett.

"Cease, the two of you. This is something I will do alone. There will be no more words out of you," he gritted out and his words were final.

His brothers were muttering amongst themselves, obviously preparing further arguments when a page came scurrying inside the stables.

"Me lords! Dae –

"Edward?" a familiar soft voice called from outside and Edward's pulse quickened.

"- queen is 'ere …" the page's voice trailed off lamely.

And there she was, standing still by the doorway, framed by the warm, yielding light of the sun. He blinked and stared. She looked so lovely. Her mahogany hair seemed to catch the light and it shone with a radiance, warming him.

He wasn't certain why this so surprised him. He knew she was on her way to the castle and if he was to admit this to himself, he wanted to leave before she arrived. He could have avoided her entirely but perhaps a part of him was hoping he could steal one more gaze at her beautiful face.

There was an awkward silence in the stables.

Edward ordered his body to remain motionless since his first urge was to grab her and do what any red-blooded man would do, especially one who had been denied for so long.

Tentatively, Bella smiled at his brothers first, maybe sensing his temporary ineptitude.

Jasper abruptly stepped forward and bowed. "My lady, accept my apologies for I left Forks Hall without your permission."

Emmett just grunted but he too bowed respectfully before the queen.

"I … I came here to find out why," she replied, her tone uncertain.

He was mute, frozen where he was standing. It was taking everything he had to just stand still.

She turned to Emmett. "I wish to speak to Edward alone."

His brothers didn't wait to be told twice. They quickly left the stables, dragging the clueless page with them. At the door, Emmett turned back, gave him an unreadable look and slowly shut the heavy wood.

Only the broken and haphazard holes on the roof and lone ceiling window above the loft illuminated the suddenly dim stables.

Slowly and hesitantly, as if he was a wild animal of unknown temper, Bella approached him. The silence was capricious as if it was only hiding an avid craving. Even the horses were silent but it was a wary, expectant silence.

Edward remained where he was, only his eyes following her movement.

"I thought I would never see you again," she said in a very low voice, so soft he almost didn't hear her.

He swallowed, hard. And there was a riot somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He was so still and yet his lungs were on fire.

Her lips parted, but she didn't speak right away. Her eyes seemed to focus beyond his shoulder, suddenly shy. "I … I had to … to … _what is it_, Edward?" She blinked, confused at his continued silence. "Did I do something wrong?"

He breathed out a long breath.

"No," he said softly.

"I came to see -" but she didn't finish and he wanted to know.

"What?"

She looked up and she said without guile, "I came to see you. You probably didn't want me to be here but … I … I had to see you, Edward," she whispered.

He watched her lips as she spoke, and he wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to kiss her.

But he couldn't. He could not dare.

He stepped back and the sound of the rustle of hay beneath his boots was loud in the quiet stables.

A flicker of hurt passed over her brown eyes and his heart melted. He wanted to move, he wanted to _do_ something.

She turned to leave. She made it only two steps away from him before his hand shot out and grabbed a small cloth of her robe.

A soft rush of air crossed Bella's lips as she gasped. He reeled her in, not looking away from her darkening eyes.

His hand found her waist and he pulled her toward him. She planted the heels of her palms against his chest but she wasn't pushing him away.

He bent his head slowly until his lips touched hers. She sighed against his mouth and he deepened the pressure. His arms came around her and she leaned in. His mouth grew more urgent and Bella opened to him. He groaned huskily, reveling in her sweet, sweet taste at last.

In that moment, she was his, and God help him, he wanted this.

His arms around her tightened and she uttered a euphoric sound, a gasping whimper, as she pressed her body closer to him, seeking his heat. He felt her hand reach up and tangle in his hair. He shivered when she slid her hand to the back of his neck in a lingering caress.

Her back arched and he gripped her harder, the heat between them intensifying, the rapid beating of her heart echoing his, the rush of her blood meeting his. He could hear and feel her breath.

"Edward," she whispered, as his lips left hers to trail frantic kisses along the soft skin of her jaw to her ear.

No, do not speak, he thought, desperate to cling to the moment, for it was all they have. His lips reclaimed hers and traced the contours, nipping the corner of her mouth.

He crushed her closer and tighter to his body, and kissed her with everything that he had in him, his passions, his desire, and his impossible love for her. With a growl, he forced her mouth to open again and delved in, worshiping her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

He moved his hands along the length of her. She felt perfect in his arms. When she moved her fingers back in his hair and gripped the strands hard, his eyes rolled back inside his head and he let out a ragged moan.

And the sound pierced his lust-muddled mind finally. He dropped his hands and he pulled back.

He tilted her face up towards his and her eyes, a beautiful limpid brown, fluttered open. Her eyes were lit and dazed with new passion.

He could barely believe what he had done and he wanted it so damned much. She looked up at him, deeply into his eyes, and a strange heat began to rise within him. Something angry, a burning need to possess and for once in his life, to just take what was his and be damned with the consequences.

Lives could turn in a single moment, but he would not mar her perfection.

He turned his head, afraid to look at her, of what his face would reveal to her.

"Edward," she breathed.

His lips were tingling, her desirous scent embracing him, and the warm feel of her shape still in his hands.

He was too weak. He wouldn't be able to resist. He didn't think he even wanted to. He needed her too much to resist.

He glanced at her and touched her cheek with one fingertip, and then turned away.

Silently, he finished saddling his horse. He strapped his satchel and secured his broadsword to the saddle.

When he was done, he stood still, not looking at her. He took a deep breath and led his horse to the door. He pushed it open, paused, and turned back to look at her.

Bella was standing like a statue, her face was pale. There were tears in her eyes.

Edward staggered back.

This was too soon for him.

He needed time and distance to wrestle with the changes in his life, to wrap his messy mind around the betrayal, his bastardy, and the near loss of his son.

He bowed to her, a promise in his heart. _I will never stop loving you, a chuisle._

He stared at her one last time.

He watched her hand float across her sweet mouth, the lips he had achingly kissed.

Edward turned and walked away.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thank you for reading. This ends Part 3.

Gaelic:

Mhic na galla - Son of a bitch

Cerridwen - Dark Mother aspect of the goddess

Sidhe - Faery

A chuisle - My darling

Summary of Part 4: "_Mo chuisle mo chroi": _Her hard-won peace finally settling in the once troubled land, the queen is now truly ruling the kingdom at last. And as for Edward, he couldn't stay away from her for too long.


	34. Part4: Mo chuisle mo chroi

Twilight's **Stephenie Meyer** said she wanted a sense of disaster to the last book, Breaking Dawn, which center around "a new awakening and a new day (and also) a lot of problems inherent in it."

**a/n:** The M-rating is for language, violence and adult content.

**Part4/_Mo chuisle mo chroi_**

Queen Isabella, the seventh monarch in the House of Cygne, in an official and ceremonial coronation, has reclaimed the throne three weeks after the triumph of the Battle of Wyman Wurth.

The reassembled queen's court and members of the council of nobles quickly observed traits of the old king in the young monarch. It was in the way she was managing kingdom affairs and most were terribly impressed, especially since she was inexperienced in court life.

She ruled by good counsel, surrounded by seven of her most trusted, loyal advisers headed jointly by the elderly Earl of Dundy, King Charles' last surviving uncle, and Carlisle Cullen, the Duke of Kent.

The queen, who seemed driven to work the fullest of days and even extending her hours into late nights without rest at times, were demanding of her subjects and would require her advisers to stay up at nights while she learned everything she needed to know to be a good queen. She was not cruel or intemperate, only highly compelled to put the kingdom in order as soon as was possible.

* * *

She did not waste her first 30 days on the throne. The first thing she did was to de-title both Argyll and Montgomerie and divide the former overlarge dukedoms into 24 earldoms and numerous baronies. The decision to strip the two great families of their titles were very controversial since the title was first given to descendants of kings, but Isabella was resolute and no one said nay to her.

The queen then repealed old King John the Blackheart's decree that there could be no more than three duchy holdings in the peerage, which at the time of his rule was Kent, Argyll and Montgomerie. Isabella changed all that and created five new duchies, namely Aufforest – which she promoted from earl to ducal rank - Norfolk, Exeter, Warwick, and Cumberland.

The title of Kent, the sixth and now the oldest duchy in the land, was made more prominent when, to no one's surprise, the queen pronounced that Lumberland, a Kent holding, was elevated into the peerage with the title of earl, while Forks was expanded into Forkshire and given a similar endowment. This made Kent the only ducal title with two additional earldoms to be passed on to younger sons.

* * *

In the first five months of her rule as queen, Isabella became generally known as a very generous monarch in the bestowal of comital titles, not only in recognition of those who supported her during the war, but also because she held a firm belief that the true source of power was to empower.

She was also accorded the epithet of "Isabella the Merciful" as she consistently ignored calls for a mass beheading and hanging of those who followed the traitors Argyll and Montgomerie.

The downside to this act of benevolence was that she had to build more prison forts to hold her defeated enemies but the executions were kept to a small number, while the titles of the fallen nobles were passed on to unborn heirs in the line of succession, effectively skipping two generations in the hope of wiping out the seeds of dissension.

* * *

Queen Isabella's young hands were full reuniting the lands but there was peace at last, despite persistent rumors that the allies of the vanquished Argyll and Montgomerie were still plotting the overthrow of her throne in some remote, very remote future.

The threats of small uprisings did not worry the queen.

What was making her grit her teeth and glare at her council of advisers, were tentative suggestions that since there was amity in the kingdom, perhaps the queen should start receiving suitors to advance territory claims and this would necessarily require marriage to foreign nobles with reigning hereditary titles.

The most immediate obligatory duty was, of course, to produce the heir to the Cygne line.

* * *

[Bella]

"It will be the grandest day, Bella! The whole of the country will join in the feasting. Are you pleased?" Alice enthused.

Was she pleased? She hardly felt gratified or near happy as she supposed she should be.

Bella looked down and noticed that her hand was clenched into a fist.

She looked up at her cousin and her gaze slid to where her mother and Rosalie were seated, and her wandering eyes stopped at her sister, Angela, who she realized was staring at her. She was clearly waiting for her to say something. But say what?

In 10 days the whole kingdom would be celebrating the occasion of her 17th day of birth.

She exhaled strongly through her nose.

Seventeen.

She was going to be 17 years old.

The year before on that same day she was not surrounded by family but fierce warriors with broadswords drawn, ready to spill blood in the name of their queen.

Her memories of being crowned in the middle of a dense forest - her first "coronation" - was of being alone but for a few loyal subjects, frightened of her own imminent death and of having no choice but to accept her fate and the terrible responsibilities that came with it.

She could hardly believe that a year has passed since everything in her life changed.

And, five months had gone by since _he_ changed her life. But it was so very different this time for _he _had altered her existence in a much more irrevocable way.

Her fingernails bit her palm as she willed herself not to remember, not to sear her mind once again with the memories of that day.

She blinked furiously to clear her vision but it was too late. She couldn't hold back the memories now, it was impossible to forget.

_He_ was always in her dreams, in her waking moments and in between.

* * *

**The stables, Cullen Hall, five months ago**

He watched her with a great sadness as the blood drained from her face. She bit her bottom lip hard not to cry out to him. He just stood there, staring at her and to her horror she could see regret in his green eyes gone dark with deep emotion.

And then he was gone.

He had left her.

She stared blankly at the empty doorway for a moment until she felt her lungs constricting and she remembered to breathe.

He fired up her entire being – every little parts of her soul. He woke up her mind and her body with his heated embrace and with his soft lips and with his warm, fervent hands and then he was … gone.

She started to tremble and she noticed then that her cheeks were wet with her tears. She choked off her sobs and hugged herself, her mind still refusing to accept that he was not there anymore.

Faint sounds came from outside and she whirled, quickly wiping her eyes of her tears.

Behind her, Sir Jasper cleared his throat and said hesitantly, "Are you ready to go into the hall, my lady?"

She twisted her head to look out at the opened door, her foolish heart still hoping that he had come back, but only his brother was standing there with a worried expression on his face.

"Yes," she said, instilling firmness in her shaky voice. She took a fortifying breath and strolled out of the stables.

* * *

There was silence as Sir Jasper escorted her to the long hall, followed by Lord Oxley and the barons that came with her to Meols Stone and then to Forks Hall.

She noticed that the Earl of Aufforest has arrived to Cullen Hall as well. He was in conference with Kent who was shaking his head with emphasis, his face dark and ominous.

Bella was greeted by Lady Cullen as soon as she entered the hall, her household flanked behind her. The women curtsied and the men bowed their heads respectfully.

She inclined her head and acknowledged the duchess and Alice who stood silently behind her. Her eyes surreptitiously looked around, searching for the younger Lady Cullen.

At the thought of Edward's wife, Bella's cheeks paled and she swayed slightly on her feet.

_Oh, Mother Mary!_ What has she done? She didn't even think about -

Was that why he pulled away because while she was so lost in the passion of his embrace, he was thinking _of his wife?_

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists.

He must think her vile and shameless wicked!

She had kissed him, touched him and molded her body to his. She raised her hand to her quivering lips. She had kissed him with everything in her and he … he had kissed her back.

She couldn't quite restrain a gasp and she clasped her hand against her mouth.

She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes, only to find that there were several pairs of eyes staring at her. They quickly averted their eyes and looked down when she stared back at them.

Lady Cullen stepped forward and curtsied again.

"My lady, we open our house to your gracious presence," she intoned courteously. "We are honored by your visit."

Bella went frigid with remorse. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to be amongst her subjects with her so unstable. To be with the Cullens, to be in the same hall as his wife.

She forced a smile on her face.

"I am grateful by your welcome," Bella murmured.

"Your grace." Lord Kent was suddenly by his duchess' side, head bowed. The earls were immediately behind him.

She assessed the duke's grim façade and suddenly, Bella had the sinking sensation that what she would know next was not something she was going to like.

She waited for him to look up at her and when he did, she said, "What has happened, Carlisle? What is this 'family matters' that beset you? I trust that it has been resolved?"

"It has been dealt with, my lady."

By now, only the Cullens including Emmett, the earls and Alice were in their closed circle.

Carlisle indicated that she sat on his ducal chair perched on a dais in the main hall but she declined. She was impatient to be told what was amiss.

When finally they told her, she watched him fixedly and with growing horror. The single thought, the only one above all else that stuck to her mind was that her beloved Edward was betrayed.

She stared at the duke as if he were an imbecile. Without thinking she took a step closer to him, her stance positively menacing.

She narrowed her eyes at Carlisle, her blood rioting in her veins, pulsing with anger.

"_Where is she?_" she gritted out.

No one could mistake the venom in her voice.

"My lady, I beg of you -" Lady Cullen gasped.

"Elizabeth!" hissed Carlisle, interrupting her plead.

For a full minute Bella was stricken by the weight of what Edward must have felt, and still feels, confronted by his wife's deceit. She couldn't even begin to wonder at the devastation that this caused him.

She couldn't quite move, couldn't quite breathe. She could only watch and listen as Carlisle gave her the heartbreaking details of the betrayal.

She looked at Lady Cullen who was ashen-faced, and she wondered if she loved Edward's wife like a daughter. Her heart, to her surprise, echoed her sadness as if she knew what it was like to lose a child.

"Lady Cullen," she said softly. "Take me to her.

* * *

She found her quietly sitting on a stool beside the small window of the tower chamber.

Bella has never met Tanya but like everyone in the kingdom, she knew of her great beauty. Now she sat there very still, and very small, a broken woman. Gingerly, she stood up and attempted a weak curtsy.

"Will you leave us, Lady Cullen," she said. She heard the door clicked close. She was alone with Edward's wife.

She didn't speak yet, only stared at the woman she once envied. She felt both sadness and anger at her, and while she pitied her she still wanted to scratch her eyes out for being stupid enough to throw away everything she had, for not trusting the Cullens to save her family from Montgomerie.

Bella knew without a trace of doubt that Edward would have done all he could to free Tanya from her family's bondage, even at the cost of his own life.

"Carlisle has sent men to get your mother and brother," she said. "They will be returned to your mother's home."

Tanya gasped and collapsed, weeping.

Bella stood still, watching her. She didn't tell her about her father who had been imprisoned.

There was nothing else she could tell her, having seen her crushed state. She had sinned, made an error in judgment and now she must pay.

As she turned to leave, Tanya whispered brokenly, "Is it true, what the witch said?"

Bella raised an eyebrow at her.

"That you w-want my husband?" she mumbled.

At her use of the word "husband" Bella's subdued pulse restarted its near boiling temperature.

"Tell me, _Tanya_, did you really believe in all that time that you were deceiving him that he was your _husband_ in your heart?"

"He is my husband!" she wailed.

"You raise your voice to me now, knowing there is nothing left for you," Bella said softly.

"He is my husband," Tanya whispered, beaten.

"Did you love him?"

"Yes," she said at once, no longer whispering. "I love him now."

Bella was silent for a few seconds. She let out a long, tired breath.

"Do you know what will happen to you?"

"You will t-take my head."

"You do not know the Cullens very well, if you think that," she snapped at her.

"You will not have me killed?" Tanya looked up at her, eyes wide.

"That is not my decision." She waited for a moment before saying, "It is his."

"What will happen?" she mumbled.

"You know what will happen."

"I will never see my son again," she said in a defeated voice.

Tanya took a wavering breath and clasped her hands. "Will you … take care of him? Both of them?"

Bella leaned forward and looked straight in her eyes, and held her own direct gaze.

"More than you ever could."

* * *

[Jasper]

**Queen's Castle**

He waited in the queen's antechamber, which was the antechamber of the _real _antechamber, which meant he was actually three doors away from the queen.

Jasper stood there hoping he could think of a clever way to ask the queen, to seek her permission and since she was her family after all, to have her blessing.

He was going to ask the queen for Alice's hand.

He took a deep, calming breath and cursed his unmanly jitters. He was so nervous he was scowling. He was too agitated and he knew that he shouldn't be. His mother had once remarked that it was impossible to deny him anything.

Jasper rearranged his apprehensive stance when he heard footsteps outside of the outer door, another petitioner come to seek favors or authority from the crown.

The door opened and the Earl of Cambridgeshire, Marcus de Burgh, entered. He did not mask his surprise at seeing him there, waiting for the queen's audience.

In the five months that Jasper had been in the castle, he had befriended the earl. He had recently been bequeathed the earldom after the old earl died, and died a hero during the brutal Wyman Wurth battle.

De Burgh was one of those nobles that were so privileged he frequently dined with the queen. He certainly enjoyed having the distinction of five generations of unquestionable loyalty to the Cygnes.

Jasper first met the earl when he rode with the queen to Cullen Hall five months ago, the day his brother left.

At the thought of Edward, he again felt the confusion of his leaving, of his self-imposed seclusion. He didn't like how they parted ways that morning. It was one of the most awful moments of his life, watching his weeping mother as she begged him to go after her eldest son, as if he, Jasper, could really stop him.

Before he left, Edward asked him – nay, he _ordered_ him - to become one of the queen's protectors and to follow her back to London. He didn't have to say the words but he knew what his brother was asking him. He wanted him to be his eyes and ears and to watch and guard the queen until he came back.

He did as told. He was a Cullen and he minded his older brother's command.

And so here he was, uprooted for the meantime, one of the queen's ever-present retinue of nobles, much like her waiting maids to be blunt about it.

He couldn't complain though, not with Alice living in the castle, too. She made his job of queen's protector worthwhile and enjoyable, and in the months after the restoration of the queen, he and his beloved had grown closer to one other.

Jasper was brought back to the present when his co-petitioner cleared his throat.

De Burgh was stroking his jaw thoughtfully, but his eyes were full of mirth.

"Do I have to guess why you are lurking outside of the queen's chambers, Forkshire?"

He smirked at his new title. He was still trying to acclimatize himself with being a new earl.

When the queen bestowed him the title and delegated additional authority over other shires adjacent to Forks, his first reaction was panic and horror.

He had not been raised to take on the full responsibility of an earldom. He was a duke's second son and he was content, more than happy really, to be lord of Forks Hall. Forks was a small county and the estate and its affairs would be easily managed.

The only upside to being made an earl, to his lovesick mind, was that the queen would not refuse his proffer of a marriage to Alice. Of course he has yet to ask the lady in question, but he was hoping that maybe the queen could just order her cousin to marry him?

In a very loud voice, de Burgh again intruded on his musings, "You have it so bad, my good man."

Jasper laughed, wholly agreeing with him. "And why are you here? You need more lands?"

De Burgh snorted and crossed his arms. He had properties enough, he knew. Not as wealthy as the other older titles but he was a formidable loyalist. And young, he was Edward's age.

Since his father, Cambridgeshire, was a trusted friend of the queen's family, he was accorded the same welcome as his father's son.

"Maybe I come now to ask for the queen's most favored hand?"

This time, Jasper's laughter rang out louder.

"Not unless you are hiding a kingdom somewhere, de Burgh. The queen will only marry a crowned prince or a king!"

Before the earl could reply to this, the inner doors opened and the queen's chamber attendant intoned that she was ready to receive him.

Jasper stopped laughing and just like that, his stomach muscles twisted in painful knots. He felt himself step forward, and he felt trapped. Like a fox in a hunt.

* * *

[Carlisle]

Cullen Hall has changed. He didn't know how else to describe it.

Edward's absence has changed Kent in what seemed to be an irreparable way.

Carlisle would like to think he was rather firm and decisive and his actions were justified. And yet here he sat, alone and gloomy in the long hall. Edward refused to come home, his sons Jasper and Emmett were in London in his stead, serving the queen in Kent's name.

He had always known that one day his eldest son would know the truth about his birth mother, but he never imagined that it would happen this way. His eyes momentarily blazed with fury but he quickly regained control of his emotions. Death would be too good for that witch, he thought, and his hands curled inwards with visions of strangling the woman's deranged neck.

Carlisle was in a stalemate with his son. He didn't blame him for leaving and he hadn't changed his mind. Edward was his heir and while he loved all his sons equally, in his mind, Edward _was_ Kent.

It was what he promised his blood mother, Esme. She didn't need to ask him, he had every intention of claiming Edward as his first born.

He shut his eyes for a moment, remembering …

* * *

The first time he met Esme, he felt the oddest sense of connection to her. It wasn't love, not immediately, but it was a strong bond.

She wasn't betrothed to Brandon yet, when they met, however Carlisle was already pledged to Elizabeth at that time.

He was utterly, outstandingly in love with Esme and in his recklessness and absolute disregard for his family, he tried to severe his oath to Elizabeth's father.

To his surprise, Esme refused to marry him. He was furious and he accused her of playing him for a fool, of manipulating his love for her.

What they had was volatile and they couldn't have stopped themselves from wanting to seal that mystical bond.

When the announcement of her own pending marriage was made, Carlisle was unaware that Esme was carrying his child. He was in France then, newly married, and was unable to go to her.

"We were not meant to be," she told him, on the day she presented to him his little son. "Only for him," she whispered, kissing Edward's small brow. "We were together so that he would be born."

He didn't understand her words and she didn't explain. Her eyes grew misty, wistful. She gave her son one last embrace, whispering indistinct words in his tiny ear, and with tears rolling down her cheeks, she left her son forever.

* * *

The back of his neck prickled with awareness and he closed his eyes, sensing her. It had always been like this, as if she was always near, watching over her son. Sometimes, he could actually hear her.

_You were right, Esme,_ he thought.

He tilted his head slightly as if acknowledging her presence.

_We were never meant to be._

* * *

[Emmett]

It was court day and the nobles were in the impressive castle vestibule called "Receivers Hall" for this was where the queen would hear petitions, favors and pleadings from local vassals. The hall wasn't as big as the Great Hall but it was ceremonious and solemn.

Emmett stood in the back, observing everything, his eyes on the queen at all times.

A trumpet blared and the room fell silent. Everyone's attention turned to the queen who was sitting on a smaller version of her throne, high on a dais.

He was used to this by now. He had been in the castle for three months, sent here by his father, and he had been assigned as one of the queen's court advisers and protectors, like his brother, Jasper.

He was also, unbelievably, an earl. The Earl of Lumberland to be exact.

He was a third son and the youngest, and since Lumberland was considerably larger than Forks, now called Forkshire, the duke parceled the county into South Lumberland and North Lumberland with the southern part, which was smaller, attached to Forksire under his older brother's tutelage.

The downside to his being an earl was that he seemed to have become the irresistible flower to the swarming honey bees known as castle wenches. They weren't really _wenches_ but even high-born women could be really wanton creatures.

The exception was of course, the unreachable Lady Rosalie Brandon. But he pushed all thoughts of the lofty woman aside since the queen had started to speak to her court.

While watching the queen, Emmett permitted himself a small smile.

After court duties today, he has been granted an audience with the queen even on short notice, and he couldn't wait to be gone. He was planning to seek her permission to leave the castle.

His hand went to his coat pocket and for what seemed to be the 100th time that day, patted the silver pendant he had been keeping for months.

When his hand wrapped around the jewelry, his smile widened into a grin.

Emmett knew there was only one thing or one _person_ that had the power to bring Edward back.

His seeking fingers traced the gems he knew to be rubies, emeralds, sapphires and the diamond stone at the center of the setting.

Desperate times, Emmett thought, called for desperate measures.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading and for leaving reviews.

Swan, while an Old English name, seemed so unimposing. For the ruling noble house in this story, Isabella is not a Swan but Isabella Marie Cygne. (Cygne is French for cygnus or swan in Latin)

Gaelic:

Mo chuisle mo chroi – My heart beats for you


	35. Half part of a blessed man

**Stephenie Meyer's** Twilight

**Chapter31/Half part of a blessed man**

[Edward]

**Saint-Kirk, Scotland**

The roof of the vaulted church was beginning to appear round, only half of it was constructed. It was moderate in size for a town of 150 resident families but it was being built in the shape of a cross like most of the big cathedrals in larger towns.

Edward shielded his eyes with his hand, looking up at the round shape style of the spires. He nodded approvingly at the pillars that rose from the ground, it was solid support made of rubble and cut stones that lined the walls of the new church. He had spent four and a half months fortifying the pillars to be strong enough to hold up the domed roof.

He surveyed the piece of rough cloth in his hand, frowning. The details of the architectural plan and designs were quite ambitious for such a modest town.

"We need more men," he murmured in Gaelic, turning to Tarmon Foy, one of the town's master builders.

Edward had given what little gold he had brought with him to the building of the church and had allowed the villagers and townsfolk to haul the old bricks and large stones from the ruined north tower of the old Cullen castle, the same castle the queen stayed in briefly before the battle at Wyman Wurth.

He shut his eyes briefly, thinking of her.

He raked a hand through his bronze hair. His mind filled with a mixture of impatience and remorse and he knew that without a shadow of a doubt, his life would never be the same again.

"Aye me lord, but a craftsman _comasach _is sae hard to git," Tarmon lamented, interrupting his self-recrimination. "We a chased b'yond er Muireach n no' a one we found."

Edward nodded at the man, glad for his interference. He also agreed with him, looking around. There was only a scattering of workers that showed up today, armed with axes and chisels.

Funding was scarce in Muireach and it would be very difficult to lure gifted carpenters and blacksmiths from out of town, and that was if they were even willing to haggle for work. They would be already employed in bigger towns because with the war over the construction in these towns would need every skilled craftsmen.

The lord of the manor, a minor baron named Devonfric, has paid not much interest in the building of the church and the most he had contributed so far was to send his two sons who had done nothing but throw their weights around, generally making a nuisance of themselves. For the most part, he ignored the delinquents who were more interested in chasing skirts around the town.

"We're offerin' more food 'n shelter fer dae workers, _maighistir_," Tarmon's daughter, the widower Eara, suggested quietly. He looked at her when she spoke suddenly, and she blushed. Edward nodded politely as he led Tarmon around a big boulder of rock waiting to be cut up into uneven smaller stones.

He purposefully put distance between him and the widower. He liked Tarmon and respected the hard-working Scot a lot, but his daughter was something else entirely.

At first the woman was subtle but in her quiet demeanor, she still managed to be suggestive.

Edward was used to bold court ladies, or the bored wives of nobles seeking lovers, or wenches in rowdy inns who harbor no expectations from the men that pass their establishments for a brief night or two. But he couldn't quite pinpoint why the widow Eara was bothering him.

It wasn't her long maple-colored hair or brown eyes, was it? She was a small woman, slightly built. She had a habit of biting her bottom lip when she was looking at him, beneath her eyelashes, somewhat similar to -

That was when he decided to steer clear of the brown-haired widow.

Yearning for Bella was one thing, confusing an attraction to a look-alike was another, and very dangerous, thing.

* * *

The following afternoon found Edward standing on the front steps of the church's unfinished entrance. Craftsmen from nearby villages were painstakingly sculpting the Baptism of Christ on the side walls, the first thing the faithful would see upon entering the church.

He scanned the room slowly and he gave a start of surprise when his gaze encountered the brown eyes he had been avoiding. She quickly walked to his side, all smiles. He groaned and cursed his ill luck that the first person he saw was the persistent Eara.

"Dae laird was lookin' fer ye, _maighistir_,"she said breathlessly. He nodded absently and moved forward. Devonfric never came down to the towns' proper to inspect the construction progress and he briefly wondered what he wanted from him.

"Shall I fetch ye some whisky, me lord?" she said, eager to please.

Edward sighed and he fought the urge to snap at her. He was getting tired of her dogging him. He was about to brush aside her offer but then decided to just humor her so she would leave.

"_Ge milis am fìon, tha e searbh ri dhìol_," a low voice uttered sardonically behind him.

Edward winced hearing his bad Gaelic, heavily accented by his native Middle English. He turned to the priest with an amused expression, one of his brows lifted in a rather superior manner.

"I don't intend to indulge in what was being offered, no matter how sweetly laid," he snorted back at him, in perfect _Gàidhlig_.

Friar Turloch laughed aloud, stamping his foot for emphasis. This action unfortunately disturbed the dust on the floor and the cloud of debris made him sneeze in between his hilarity.

He jerked his head toward the door in a corner, and the priest preceded him, still guffawing, to a side exit.

Aside from Tarmon, the former monk was the only other fellow Edward frequently enjoy a dram of whiskey with and indulging in long conversations, albeit drunkenly, in some long nights.

Friar Turloch was a particularly gifted and insightful evangelical counsel and was truly sincere in his vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Unlike the hermetic monks and cloistered nuns, the robed friars were roving holy men whose main vow was to serve and tend to God's flock.

The priest was born of a noble family, his father was an earl. There were rumors about town how he ended up in Saint-Kirk, some saying he had impregnated a wedded lady and to avoid castration by the understandably insulted husband, he ran away to the monastery.

He quickly glanced at the friar to make sure he had not lost him in the crowded street.

Edward doubted there was any truth to this tale. Firstly, the man was as prudent and scrupulous as his brother Emmett, perhaps even more so and that was near impossible. Secondly, he had never observed him look at a woman before. He didn't think he was a sodomite either or he would have been dead by now for crimes against nature.

He quickly strode to a narrow side street, dodging children playing and tinkers hawking their wares, and headed for the tavern in the opposite side.

The tavern owner yelled a greeting at him and the priest when he entered the dim establishment. He waited until two wooden tankards of ale were set on the table.

"What does Devonfric want with me?" he said without preamble, his voice low.

"There were riders sighted heading this way. Armed men," the friar said in English, with emphasis. "They will be here by next morn."

"Why is he worried about visitors?"

Friar Turloch snorted. "You make him nervous, Edward. He thinks you will bring war to his town and the idiot is overly fond of his wine and women to fight."

Edward drained his tankard and smirked at his friend. "I blame you for that, _mo charaid_. You've been here what? Five years? And you've hardly persuaded the local nobility to curtail their spending, stop spawning bastards around town, and give you their gold to save their souls."

He shrugged and summoned a boy to refill his tankard. "The Good Lord knows I've tried. Why, I even told them lot the Bishop of London has promised leniency from purgatory to those who will donate for the building of the church."

"Ah! Of course, the gold given to the church is a symbol and measure of their faith," Edward half-chuckled, half-sneered at the priest.

The friar smiled wistfully, nursing his whisky as if it was his last. "You're not worried for your own soul's worth, are you my Lord Kent?"

Was he? He thought he was already damned anyway, so why should he be concerned of where his wretched soul was bound for after his death? And while he was helping build God's church in this little town, his reasons for doing were hardly religious.

He simply needed to create, to see something rise out of nothing, a reason to stop staring at the hearth fire while getting mightily drunk. It was as if by building this damned church, he too could mend, and shape and bend his own life and restore what had been lost.

* * *

When he first arrived in Saint-Kirk, he shut himself inside the castle and brooded. There wasn't much he could do in his first week, alone, but castigate himself and drown in obsessive thoughts about Bella.

There wasn't a single day or night when he didn't torture himself with memories of that day, in the stables, when he wanted to consume her. God, he needed her for more than just to slake his lust.

He wanted to prove to himself that he could be good and worthy for someone such as her, that he _did _belong and she could be his.

He needed her then and he needed her now, and Edward had the sinking sensation that his fate had just been sealed with that kiss.

In a way, he was glad that his mind was centered around and could only focus on everything Bella. He would rather he dedicate every waking thought to her rather than to his father.

Still, it sickened him now remembering how he had behaved. He had spent his entire life trying to live up to his father's expectations and in one morning in a dark stable, he had managed to soil that upbringing by behaving rather disgracefully.

He knew he had reasons to leave her like he did, but he couldn't quite justify _how_ exactly he had left her.

In every life there was a turning point and he had experienced his, that day, when he let go of his control and gave in to his baser needs.

At times, that memory was so distinct and clear he could actually feel her, smell her hair, and it would knock the breath out of him.

Ah, bloody hell. Did he really need to do this to himself?

As he attempted to push his obsessive musings about Bella, other disturbing thoughts assailed his mind: Tanya's betrayal, and the evil incarnate that was Victoria.

His mind, however, shied away from his reluctant curiosity about the woman who gave birth to him.

* * *

Edward rubbed his face and recalled Tanya's guilty face.

Before he left Cullen Hall, he had told Jasper to bring little Willie to his mother, to say her last goodbyes to her son. It wasn't an act of mercy it was rather cruel really, to taunt her at the last minute of what she had given up.

He had never loved her but he thought what he felt for her which was respect born out of a commitment to cleave his life to hers, was enough. It was a strong foundation for an arranged marriage. His peers had married for lesser reasons.

He didn't bother with his own fare thee well.

She didn't deserve it.

* * *

He got up from the settee he was slumped over watching the hearth fire in the small hall of the castle. He went to a side table and refilled his pewter of whisky.

He gazed back at the fire and saw only her insane eyes.

He had to plan where to begin hunting that witch and make her pay for what she did to him and consequently, to his family.

Edward's body, quite unexpectedly, was wracked with a wave of shudders.

He was here and he was alive, he assured himself. He was whole.

He hated the witch with everything in him, but he was also ashamed and bitter by his weakness as a mere man, one who could be blinded by an uncontrolled lasciviousness.

Victoria had shed his blood in ritualistic manner. She had cut him, little stinging lacerations to his skin, and nail scratches deep enough to draw blood. Sometimes she would use those wicked blades, and then at other times she would use her sharp teeth to bite him.

He had watched her in horror as she licked his little wounds, moaning at her evil pleasure. In his mind, he was viciously hurling curses at her but his mouth wouldn't open to spit out the words.

He could only stare at her, numbed and befogged by her enchantments.

He could only welcome the confusion and his blurred memories as she chanted over and over again. His skin crawled in remembered revulsion when he felt her descend along his body.

"_You are perfect, my love_," she had whispered repeatedly, and he shivered at the feel of her coldness. He had wanted to turn his head but for the life of him, he couldn't raise it enough to growl at her.

He felt her then, her hand around him, coaxing his carnal response to her ministrations. He winced when he felt her jaw clamping around his manhood and he feared the witch would rip it off. His body jerked and he tried to lift his arm to yank her off him by her hair.

Edward closed his eyes, his grip around the tankard tightening until he felt his knuckle bones crack in protest.

Men have animalistic instincts, borne from the blood of satyrs. He had thought he could master it, to crush it by his will alone but in that dark night, to his self-disgust, he gave in to it. And he could not forgive himself for yielding, even for one cursed moment, to the witch's wiles.

* * *

As anticipated, the riders cleared the last small hill as the sun was rising higher in the skies. They were riding at a faster pace and soon they would reach the clearing leading to the castle.

Edward narrowed his eyes at the approaching riders. They carry no colors and he could not tell who they were. He was outside of the keep, his broadsword drawn. As a gesture of friendliness, he was not on his horse, but Friar Turlock and Tarmon were, and they have their bows at the ready.

He took the time to comment an aside to the priest. "Do you actually know how to use that thing? Be careful less you shoot me by mistake."

"Och! If you feel an arrow embedded in your arse, my lord, it won't be my error I tell you that!" he huffed, his hold on his bow tensing.

There was no time for more banter because the first of the riders, the leader, had ridden past the boulder gates of the castle grounds.

When Edward saw his face, he cursed, loudly.

"If you do not stop dragging the Lord's Holy Name in vain, Edward, I _will_ shoot you!" the priest growled.

Edward grinned but ignored this mild threat.

"God's Teeth and His Wounds," he drawled out, slowly uttering the words for the benefit of the scandalized friar. "Put your weapons away, _mo charaid_, and come meet my _bhrathair_."

* * *

[Emmett]

"I should have known you will hide here," he said, critically surveying the old hall.

"I wasn't hiding," his brother bit out.

No, you would not hide from anyone, brother, he thought to himself.

But he would flee from the woman he desired above everything else.

Emmett wisely kept his mouth shut. He didn't dare contradict him, not in front of subordinates.

He tilted his head slightly to the left, motioning across the room. His eyes landed on the two men whom his brother introduced as Friar Turloch and Tarmon Foy.

Edward intercepted his look and read it correctly. He turned his gaze sharply around and turned back to him. His brother inclined his head slightly at him, an answer to his silent query of whether it was safe to talk freely in their presence.

"Still, it should have been obvious. It took Sir Garrett months to find you." He nodded to the knight, who was now inspecting the ancient weapons displayed on the walls.

Edward cracked a self-deprecating smile. "Do I have to ask why you are here?"

Emmett glanced at Sir Garrett who was striding towards them, having heard his brother's question. He settled back and let his second-in-command brief Edward about what has been happening during the past two months or so, in the castle.

"We thought you might want to hear this, my lord. There's a rumor circulating that the witch is in London," said the knight brusquely.

Edward went still, staring at Sir Garrett intently.

"Rumors?" He asked quietly. "Did you not confirm this?"

"We've scouts and spies all over London, my lord, and the -"

"Not enough if you do not have confirmed reports," Edward harshly interrupted. "God's Hell, Emmett, who is in charge of the queen's protection?"

"Well, we are -"

"You are not doing enough!"

"Now, see here, Edward," he protested and then stopped. He blinked once and shut up. Inwardly, he was smiling. Hauling his brother's arse back to London might be easier that he thought. "You're right," he muttered. "It's plain that we need to do more."

His brother stood up and restlessly moved around, deep in thought.

Emmett drank from his cup of ale slowly, and with exaggerated nonchalance. "What do you advise we should do, then?"

Edward paused in his uneasy movement and stared so fixedly at him he thought he might have grown an extra head. Then he waved his hand dismissively.

"Double the Aufforest men, they are excellent spies and scouts. Pembroke and March – they are new earls, I understand? Recruit their knights as additional castle guards. Ask for Parr and Fane, and the Baron Lennox, aye? You will not have to convince them to do it they will jump at the privilege."

Emmett frowned, his mouth slacked. This was not what he was expecting. If anyone should be _jumping_ to join the castle guards, it should be his stubborn brother.

He sighed, opting to keep his opinions to himself, for the moment. He wouldn't disrespect his brother in front of others. His left eye twitched, and he forced himself not to snap at his thick-headed brother that he should, in fact, re-assign himself back as the queen's guard and counsel as was his sworn and solemn duty.

He hid the expression on his face, which he knew was sly and calculating, and coughed.

"Are there no more whisky in this God forsaken place!"

* * *

[Edward]

He leaned forward, his green eyes burning with intensity.

"They want her married off? And bloody soon you say? _Rach air muin_!" He sat back, but his entire body radiated with tension.

Emmett delicately cleared his throat.

"My _canan nan Gaidheil_ is not as good as yours, but please, don't you 'shit' me, brother. I am but a messenger."

He made a rude sound and said sharply, "Has she chosen anyone?"

Somehow, up here in the mountains of remote Saint-Kirk, it had never occurred to him that the queen would ever, _ever_, have need of a husband. But once he got hold of this detestable thought, he was incapable of letting it go.

He paced around the room and in a burst of temper he hurled his tankard into the hearth flame where it exploded in spit fires. He stared mutinously at the fire until his brother coughed loudly.

He let out a beleaguered sigh. He happened to look at Emmett who without him realizing he was being scrutinized, was wearing what could only be described as a smug expression to his face. He wanted to hit him, unprovoked. He hadn't done that since he was eight years old.

Suddenly, it wasn't his brother's face he was seeing but an image of a faceless man, and the opportunistic bastard was standing close enough to Bella that when he tipped her face up, their lips were almost touching.

He growled and his own expression became menacing. And that was when he knew, deep in his bones, that he had to return to her, to see her. And perhaps his heart and his mind, all the pieces of his life, would finally fit and have a renewed purpose.

Emmett's measuring eyes were fastened on him, gauging his mood. He was sitting on a stiff-backed chair, an old chess table in front of him. He held his hand above the table and slowly, he opened his fist and dropped a glittering object on top of it.

Edward approached the table and gazed down at a silver pendant with several precious gems. He stared fixedly at it, a faint memory tickling his mind. He knew he had seen this jewelry before, it was particularly memorable because of its unique setting.

He realized then that the pendant was familiar to him. His eyes snapped to his brother's. The pendant belonged to Bella.

"How did you get this?" He asked, and shot him a suspicious look.

"She gave it to me," he replied mildly.

"She _gave_ it to _you_?" A disbelieving look this time.

Emmett shrugged. His hand nudged the pendant closer to him.

"Or rather, she gave it to me to give to _you_, arse-heid."

He reached out a hand and fingered the silver chains, a blunt fingertip gliding towards the colored diamond at the center of the circle of gems.

"Why?" he mumbled, not removing his eyes from the pendant.

Again, his brother shrugged.

"She only told me to give her trinket to you and to tell you …"

"Tell me what?"

"I don't know, to be honest," his brother said, scratching at his rough chin. "I was hoping you'd tell me yourself."

"God's Hell, Emmett, you are not making any sense!"

"Then perhaps you should go ask her then," he countered with uncharacteristic rashness. He suddenly looked more serious than he had ever seen him.

Edward lifted the pendant and wound the chain around his trembling hand. He could be losing his mind, but the jewelry felt like her. Elegant, exquisitely beautiful, and unattainable. He gazed at it for a long time, his heart twisting.

His jaw felt quite stiff to him and he squinted at his brother.

"I love her, you know that," he said softly.

Emmett let out a long exhale, and gruffly nodded his head.

Edward pocketed the pendant and rocked on his heels for a moment. He felt it then, that exhilarating sense of purpose that had been lacking in his life these past five months. His lips curved slightly in anticipation.

He walked to a side wall and yanked the bell pull.

He had things to organize, people to leave instructions to, plans set in order before departing the next day.

* * *

[Bella]

**Queen's Castle**

Bella caught her lower lip between her teeth, trying for some unknown reason, to not cry.

The towering and grandiose center of the Great Hall was teeming with jugglers, jesters, and there were puppet shows set up in the sidelines for those too far away to enjoy the performers upfront.

The bag pipes, flutes and harps accompanied the jugglers' hilarious antics. Earlier, traveling minstrels – by invitation only - dominated the center stage to the glee of the lords and ladies of the court.

Bella tried not to blush and to act blasé by the minstrels' eloquent tribute to her but some were decidedly bawdy.

There was one rogue performer who sang so beautifully to her it almost brought tears to her eyes, but his words and tunes were too risqué for court. It was only after Rosalie whispered to her that the acclaimed bard who could also sing, was complimentary of MacDermott of Ireland, one of her suitors, that she settled down to enjoy the performance. To be polite, she contained her discomfort of the improper poetry.

Tirawley MacDermott hasn't presented himself yet, at least not to her personally, and for the reprieve Bella was relieved. She has never met the Irish prince before but she has heard of him, naturally, and what she knew of him she didn't like.

And then there was Prince Grimoald of France, who just this morn has officially, and quite spectacularly, declared his intention to wed her, or rather to wed England. For that was how he worded his proposal - the marriage of France and England.

Bella refrained from saying that France and England had been joined so many times in matrimony they were all practically cousins. She would bet one of her gold crowns that somewhere along the ancestry line, she and Grimoald share a forgotten forefather.

Aside from the no-show MacDermott, there was one other suitor that was expected to arrive any day now, and that was Prince Raoul of Aragos and Girón of the Spanish Aragon kingdom.

From what Angela has breathlessly told her about the Aragonese, he was quite the notable noble, leaving nothing but happy hearts and smiling faces in his wake.

Bella fixed a bright grin on her face when she intercepted her mother's pointed glare. They were seated at the queen's table and she was caught indulging in her musings, not very social of her. She must show a happy façade on this day of the queen's birth day, she reminded herself, subtly nodding to her mother.

"_Tu es très belle, ma reine_," exclaimed Prince Grimoald, artfully kissing the back of her hand. He was, to her dismay, seated to her left while her mother was protectively entrenched to her right.

She murmured a polite reply and yanked her hand away. He didn't seem to notice the abrupt movement and instead he turned to the Duke of Exeter, sitting to his left.

Bella sighed quietly to herself and once again, mentally stepped away from the table and blocked the rhythm of the conversations around her. She smiled when her name was spoken and nodded appropriately when addressed.

She focused on a particularly bizarre noblewoman who was wearing something that resembled a sea creature called an octopus on top of her head. One of the Spanish explorers once showed her a dead and stuffed octopus and she was quite embarrassed of her reaction when first she saw it. She had screamed and ran from the room. She was five years old.

She stared at the woman but in truth, her vision was blurring and she wasn't seeing her surroundings anymore.

She smiled, unbidden, because the first thing she thought of was Jasper Cullen. When he nervously came to her receiving chamber a sennight past and bluntly asked for her cousin's hand, he endeared himself forever to her. She had said yes, of course, but ordered him to ask her cousin himself. As far as she knew that has not happened yet.

Her smile disappeared when she thought of the youngest Cullen next. She tried not to think of where Emmett had gone to but she did hope and she prayed that whatever he was doing now would somehow involve Edward.

She felt that nagging emptiness again, which was why she felt like crying earlier.

She was quite jealous of her cousins, Mary Mother forgive her, for having found their mates. Even Rosalie who did nothing but to complain and whine about Emmett. But unlike her feisty cousin who was blind to his sweet nature, it was quite obvious to Bella that Rosalie was enamored with the third Cullen son.

A movement from across the hall suddenly caught her distracted attention. She saw a hand waving at her frantically and she blinked, momentarily bewildered.

Alice was across the expanse of marble floors, half concealed by a massive pillar, and she was gesturing madly at her.

Bella quickly glanced to her left and right to check if anyone else saw Alice's unusual behavior. She particularly noted that her mother's attention was on someone else and didn't see her strange cousin.

She raised her hand to a page standing behind her and he rushed forward to help her get up. Three ladies-in-waiting, all wives of earls, came to attention when she stood. So were all those at the table.

Her mother turned to her and inquired, "Would you like me to accompany you, my daughter?"

"No Mother, I will be fine," she murmured. She nodded to all her guests and whirled around. She didn't need to look if Alice followed. She knew she would.

"Leave me," she told her court attendants when they entered the inner halls. They curtsied and fell back while she briskly strode to the far side of the queen's quarters.

She stood in the middle of the large private receiving chamber and waited. She snapped to attention when she saw Alice's red robe round a corner towards the staircase. She carefully lifted her wide skirts and almost sprinted across the room and down the stairs.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the entry hall. She raised her head and abruptly she stopped short, stumbled even, her breath catching in her suddenly tight throat.

Edward was standing before her and she could tell – in some small portion of her mind that was still functioning – that he was equally stunned to see her there, in fact he was looking at her as if she was a ghost.

He held himself very still and she saw that his hands that were fisted at his sides were shaking.

She heard the door quietly shut close behind her and the sound snapped her out of her breathless stupor.

_Oh, Edward_, her mind chanted round and round inside her head.

Edward has come back!

Bella had taken two, three slow steps in his direction before she even realized what she was doing.

She caught the gleam in his eyes and her heart soared. She closed the distance between them and flung herself at him, her arms around his neck.

She felt his body stiffen and she felt the rumble of resistance in his chest but as she brushed her mouth against his, he shuddered and groaned, and as if he couldn't help himself, he deepened the kiss as he parted her lips with his tongue.

She wanted more. She wanted to feel his warmth and his vitality, she wanted him to consume her and burn her.

Edward slid his hands around her and pressed her hard against him.

"Bella, Bella, _a chuisle, __tha thu bóidheach," _he murmured in her ear, his voice raspy but he was starting to pull away.

She felt his resistance grow and desperately she clutched at his shoulders, holding on to him. She rose on her tiptoes and her hands sank in his hair, her lips moved to his neck. She heard him gasp and swallow convulsively.

Somehow they were against the wall and she felt as if her heart would pound itself right out of her heaving chest. She could hardly breathe as his warm hands skimmed over her ribs and squeezed, gently. She arched her back and she crushed her mouth against his again. His lips parted and she swooped inside.

She was rejoicing, she thought his resistance was slipping away.

"Bella!" A panicked voice called from outside. Her hazy mind, so wrapped around Edward, identified the sound as Alice's.

He drew back and wrenched himself away. She whimpered and grasped at his tunic, pulling him to her and leaning her lips to fuse with his again.

"Bella!" Alice hissed. "You have 30 heartbeats to come out of there or I will break down this door!"

"Go," Edward said softly. He didn't wait for her response. He leaned over her and he opened the door.

"Wait!" Bella cried. "Don't leave," she pleaded.

Edward took a step back and gave her a bow. He looked up and smiled faintly at her. "Where else am I going to go?"

Bella nodded, taking a last longing look at him. She slipped through the door.

As she hurried after the harassed and annoyed-looking Alice, the bleak look in his eyes haunted her.

* * *

*****a/n**

"He is the half part of a blessed man; left to be finished by such a she; and she is a fair divided excellence, whose fullness of perfection lies in him." – Shakespeare, King John, Act II

Gaelic:

Comasach – Gifted

Maighistir – Master/Sir

Mo charaid – My friend

Bhrathair - Brother

Ge milis am fìon, tha e searbh ri dhìol - The wine is sweet, the paying bitter

Rach air muin! – is a curse word ("Oh, shit!")

Canan nan Gaidheil – Language of the Gaels

Tha thu bóidheach – You are beautiful

A chuisle – My darling

French:

Tu es très belle, ma reine – You are very beautiful, my queen


	36. Engagement

What's in a name? "Edward" and "Isabella" has always been the names **Stephenie**** Meyer** had in mind for the two main characters of Twilight. Jasper, however, was originally a "Ronald" and Rosalie was a "Carol".

**Chapter32/Engagement **

[Angela]

She has been observing her sister closely since Lord Edward Cullen, the future Duke of Kent, arrived at the castle a sennight past.

She found it quite odd because they seemed to be trying to avoid each other and when they were in the same hall or chamber, they did not look _at_ each other, just towards each other's directions.

What she thought more baffling was that she had caught Lord Kent staring at her sister when she wasn't looking, and to her surprise, her sister would match that fixed look when she thought no one was watching her.

Angela did not quite understand the look on her sister's face when she was focused on the virile, handsome lord. She felt herself blushing at her thought, remembering his tall, broad-shouldered, agreeable form. She was 15 years old, soon to be 16! She reminded herself, feeling quite wicked for she had great appreciation for strikingly appealing men.

Unlike her sister, she wasn't as guarded or as secluded. She had allowed a stolen kiss or two from young nobles before and she had been caught too, by her own father, no less. He only smiled indulgently at her but directed an icy stare at the hapless young lord whose name she had forgotten, and who may or may not have fainted dead away at the sight of the kingly glare.

But she wasn't quite sure that her father would look similarly complaisant had he intercepted Lord Cullen's deep stare at Bella. It was so fervidly, _intensely_ different. She had felt breathless while witnessing it, and she was only watching him, his eyes on her sister as if he might die if he would look away from her face. She could only imagine what it would feel like if she was on the receiving end of that ardent stare.

She wondered how on earth no one had ever noticed this before, that ... that Bella … _that __Bella __was __in __love __with __Lord __Cullen__ and __he __with __her!_

The epiphany made her stumble and Angela actually tripped over her feet. A hand helped her regain her balance and she nodded absently at her cousin, Ingrid Beckham, who was accompanying her to the queen's quarters.

"Are you feeling faint, my lady?" she asked.

She shook her head and managed a reassuring smile. She continued walking, lost in thought.

If her father was still alive and Georgie was to be the next king, would her sister and the future duke be allowed to marry?

The answer to that one, as Angela knew it, was neither a yes or no, but _probably_. It was a possibility that they would be allowed to wed with the kingdom's approval, but not after her father had entertained a foreign king or a prince's suit first and there would be offers, even if Bella was not queen.

Still, she mulled, Kent was her father's closest friend and ally, and if life turned out differently and her sister was not tied to the damned throne … would they find consent to wed?

Oh, it was so very complicated! She wailed to herself.

* * *

[Bella]

He was avoiding her.

She viciously yanked on the annoying weeds that simply refused to leave her patch of roses and gilliflowers alone. She dug her hands on the soil and tried to pack it smoothly flat when a particularly stubborn weed, rooted so firmly, disturbed the soil around the roses.

Satisfied that the weeds have been overpowered, for the moment at least, Bella sat back on her heels and surveyed her small paradise.

_Sanctuary_, she thought, sighing.

She considered it a miracle when she found this secluded garden a month after her return. It was a pleasure garden of a forgotten ancestor of hers and by the state of the foliage when she found it, it has been abandoned for too many decades.

She stood up and slowly whirled, a small, peaceful smile on her face. It was a secret alcove tucked behind the upper level chambers of the castle. When she discovered it, the soil had thinned but still, wild flowers and bushes grew from the weakened earth while grape vines lined the stone walls.

What took her breath away was that the sky garden, as she now calls it, had an unrestrained, sprawling view of the mountains and the surrounding forests. An open space of skies and nature that caught her by surprise for she never expected such a place was hidden within the castle walls.

She lay on the grass and gazed up at the mid-afternoon sky. She breathed in the basil, sage and sweet marjoram that she had planted in a small corner, her token herbary.

In the six months since she had been back, she found the time to tend to her secret garden, sometimes during nights. She loved working under the beaming moon. She felt so much at peace and blissfully alone.

She never expected to love it, she had never done it and knew nothing of growing plants and flowers, but she did it.

If she could rule a kingdom, she could certainly nurse a seed to grow into a pretty flower.

This was what she wanted in her life, deep in her heart, she knew it. A small patch of land to plant and to watch the buds bloom. To lie on the soft grass, to hear the laughter of her children. And if she was lulled to sleep by the gentle wind, that she would wake up to the smiling face of her mate.

The smiling face became Edward's and she sighed, deeply.

This moment, when she could almost feel it, it somehow crystallized all her dreams.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She hugged her arms to her chest and glanced up at the sky as a shadow passed over her. A cloud has slid over the sun and the air around her chilled a bit.

Why was he avoiding her?

After she had launched herself at him that day – _Mary Mother in Heaven_, was it only a sennight ago? She thought she had made it perfectly clear to him that she wanted this … _whatever_ this was! She wanted it with him and she didn't care anymore what everybody expected from her.

She was the queen. She could do every little thing she wished to do! She thought in defiance.

Her shoulders slumped forward and she exhaled a long breath. She brushed impatiently at a wayward tear.

Oh, Father, she silently cried. Why did you have to die?

The old king's strong yet kindly face appeared before her, in her mind's eyes, and she thought the words that were his, now her own.

_I __am__ queen __and __I __am __obligated __to __do __my __duties __to __my __people __and __country_, she thought, resigned.

What she wished for herself personally had nothing to do with it.

Her burdens had always been hers alone, even with a supportive mother and a devoted sister. Even with a legion of loyal subjects. And this, the crown, was her burden, and she had always felt guilty that she felt this way.

If there was one selfish act she would, and _could_ do, did she dare to do it?

_Yes!_ Her mind screamed at her.

* * *

She was going to _kill_ him!

For several seconds Bella's body didn't move as if she knew she had to remain still or she would regret her next move.

She was strolling in one of the courtyards, attended by her cousin, Alice, and several court ladies. She had managed to avoid the attentions of the French prince for days by doing exactly what she was doing now, leisurely spending time in the pleasaunce surrounded by women.

Rounding a corner of the bushtree-lined park, she abruptly stopped and stared, her breath choking her.

_He_ was standing beside a bench, and on the bench sitting was Tirawley MacDermott's sister, Princess Peigin. They were cozily talking quietly and the princess, Bella noted with narrowed eyes, had one hand extended as if she had just touched his arm.

Edward eyed Bella warily, him being the first to notice that their private moment now had an audience.

The air was thick with tension which was rendered more intense because everyone was confused of where it was coming from.

Oh, Bella knew the source of the tension and it was standing right in front of her, motionless, until he remembered his manners.

"Your grace," Edward said in a low voice, and bowed.

The woman, damned her eyes, glowered at her when she was finally able to tear her gaze away from him. She quickly rearranged her expression into something bland, and languidly she stood up, arrogant like her absent brother, and slithered closer to Edward.

MacDermott sent his sister to the castle two weeks ago as his representative, claiming that he could not depart as yet from his lands due to some minor conflict among his barons.

As soon as the princess arrived, she created quite a stir for she was the rival that Rosalie never had, for if her cousin was the prettiest woman in the English court, Peigin was in hers.

Bella gritted her teeth, afraid to let out the guttural sound she wanted to make. She consoled herself that at least she wasn't screaming.

_Why was she standing too close to him?_

_What were they talking about?_

_And __could __England__ afford __another __war __with __Ireland?_

She considered it, she really did, for a war was what would happen if she followed what her heart was urging her to do, which was to gouge her blue eyes out of their sockets!_  
_

Her heart was beating faster and with a deceptively calm voice, she said, "Edward, _Peigin_," she almost snarled her name. "It is a nice day, isn't?"

"My gracious queen," she said, and the woman remembered to curtsy a little, but not quite bending her knees as befits her rank.

Bella refused to look at him again. She didn't think she could hide another glare.

She felt unfocused and restless. She hated to feel this way and he was the only one who could do this to her!

She spared him another glance though, she couldn't help it, and she caught his small smile. It was his usual amused, crooked smile and her blood started to boil again.

She had to _bother_ him because, _All the Saints in Heaven_ knew, _he_ bothered her mightily.

"Are we expecting the prince to participate in the tournament?" She inquired, instilling quite a measure of interest in her tone.

She felt rather than saw Edward stiffen.

"Oh yes, my lady, he will be here," Peigin assured her. "My brother continues to apologize for the delays in his visit. He bids me tell you that he most sincerely would like to be here as soon as possible," she added with a wide, fake smile.

"I am pleased," Bella demurred. "Bring him a message that I, too, would _anxiously_ await his arrival."

_And take that, Cullen!_

She picked up her skirts and managed not to stomp away, her entourage at her heels.

* * *

[Alice]

She had waited all day to catch a moment with Edward. She seemed to be doing that more and more lately but somehow, he would still manage to elude her.

Fortunately, she had a lot of time to pursue him since Jasper was away from the castle, ordered by his older brother to investigate some town near London. He wouldn't tell her what his mission was when she asked him, and so she left it well enough alone.

She knew something was brewing and her stomach would turn because she knew it had something to do with Victoria Argyll.

When she was not stalking Edward, or waiting on the queen, she was in her room practicing. She had done almost all of the spells in her mother's grimoire and she was marginally satisfied with the results. There were incantations that were hard to execute though, but she needed to at least try until she got it working.

Victoria was coming back one day, she knew it. And she would be prepared for that day.

* * *

"_What were you thinking?_" she asked him, quite mildly.

Finally, out of sheer fortune and perhaps divine providence – and she was tempted to use magic on him just so she could get a hold of him – she cornered Edward in one of the corridors outside of the Receivers Hall.

She waited for him to speak and she just couldn't keep quiet.

"Well?" Impatiently.

"Do you speak like this to Jasper?" He said, leaning forward as if to intimidate her. She backed away, but only a little.

"All the time, my lord."

Edward stared at her for several moments and cocked his head toward her in salute.

"I still owe you for your help in finding my son. I will indulge you. So, what was I thinking about then?"

"Princess Peigin?"

Really, he was lucky he still had his head attached to his shoulders. Didn't he realize how powerful the queen was?

He looked at her sharply, trying to discern if her tone was insulting or not. Alice shrugged. "That was not a pleasant sight, my lord. You hurt her."

"It wasn't my intention to hurt her." He let out a frustrated breath. "And not that I need to explain myself to you but, I'll have you know, it was entirely innocent and accidental."

Her brows rose in question.

"You must know the princess wants you, why, she was all over you! We could all see it, especially Bella." She snorted in disdain.

"Did she tell you to talk to me?" He asked quietly.

"No, my lord," she said, slightly nervous. She didn't and the queen would lock her up for a day if she finds out. Nothing and no one had the ability to change Bella's moods, or temper, like Edward.

Suddenly, he held out his hand and she jumped, foolishly. She regarded him for a few moments and then, shyly, she placed her hand in his.

"You - " He cleared his throat and was silent for awhile. He looked down at her hand, clasped in his. "You may call me Edward. You … are my sister, after all."

Alice's eyes teared and she looked away, nodding. After a moment, she whispered, "do you want to -" and she stopped. She didn't quite know how to ask him. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Yes, but perhaps not today."

"Do you … resent me for it?"

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For the blood that we share."

"No."

She squeezed his hand and let go.

For several moments they said nothing. She stole a glance at him and saw him frowning. She knew instinctively that he was thinking about Bella. She could also tell that she had finally got through to him.

"Bella thought I was voluntarily keeping company with the princess?" he asked.

"Yes, she did. She can't help to think that, based on what she saw."

Edward held silent for what seemed a long time until he said, "I will go to her."

Alice sighed in relief but then remembered something. "You best do it soon, you've already given de Burgh enough time to worm his way around the queen's inner circle."

He gave her a startled look. "What's de Burgh got to do with the queen?"

"I'm not precisely certain what the earl wants _from_ her, but I know for sure that he wants her," she said meaningfully. "For himself," she added with emphasis.

Edward cursed and her eyes widened reproachfully at him. The look he gave her was thunderous.

Ah, jealousy. What a lovely enterprise, Alice thought.

"I saw him follow her in the stables. I do think he means to coach her on how not to fear horses anymore," she said in a taunting voice. "Like you did before, am I right?"

He didn't bother with an expletive this time, simply marching angrily away. To the queen's stables.

* * *

[Bella]

The Earl of Cambridgeshire was a pleasant fellow and Bella had always liked him. She considered him like a kin and that was why it puzzled her when he started acting – for want of a better word – amatory towards her, instead of being merely affectionate like a kinsman.

Still, she chased that thought away. She was probably attaching too many speculations about his actions which were just, well, over-friendly lately. For why would he show her more than affections? He was not eligible as suitor, at least not by her council's standards. And more importantly, she wasn't interested.

It was while she was debating with herself on how to handle de Burgh when she noticed that, without her permission, he had dismissed the two pages that had accompanied her to the stables.

"I remember you were about 10 or 12 years old when you were finally persuaded to ride a horse," he said, now standing too close to her. She was leaning on the railing of her palfrey's box stall.

"Yes, previous to that, it was always the carriage for me." She was fond of that carriage which was built just for her. It was decorated and gilded and pulled by white horses.

"Let me see you ride your horse, my lady. I rarely see you on top of your beautiful beast. May we do that sometime? Ride together?" His voice has become uncomfortably husky.

Bella straightened and she was about to move away from him when a stilted coughing followed by a throat clearing sounded from behind.

"Your grace, may I inquire if you are ready now?" Edward's voice said dryly and she twisted immediately around, eyes wide.

Edward stood not 10 feet away, a slight curl to his lip as he and de Burgh engaged in a staring contest. He turned his look at her, lifting a brow.

It suddenly occurred to Bella in that moment that his comment was a ruse and if it would get her away from de Burgh, she was all for it.

"Yes, of course. Ready for -" she stopped. What did he meant by it anyway?

"For your ride. With me. Now." He clipped each word, and then said belatedly, formally and with a bow, "your highness."

She nodded quickly and to the silent de Burgh, she said haughtily, "You may leave us now, Marcus."

Bella turned away but not before she briefly saw his chilling look at Edward. "Enjoy your ride, my lady," he managed, and ignoring Edward, he stalked out.

Upon his exit, one of the pages, Ollio, quickly entered the stables. He stopped abruptly, seeing Edward. He didn't wait for an order but backed away to, presumably, stand guard outside.

They descended into silence and it was painfully evocative. He did nothing but stare at her for several seconds, then muttered, "I apologize."

"Why?" she asked, not giving an inch. _He_ was the one who purposefully avoided her. What else was she supposed to do? It was his fault that they were now standing there, in an awkward position. And let's not forget his little _tête_-à-_tête_ with the little Irish princess.

"For a lot of things, for everything that's on your mind right now. For what you thought you saw in the garden," he grumbled.

Bella stood her ground and crossed her arms over her chest. "Then _what_ did I see then?"

"For God's sakes, Bella, what do you think I am? Do you think I will kiss you and then turn around and find the next princess to amuse myself?"

"I'm a queen, not a princess," she said rather sullenly. The second the words were out of her mouth she wanted to kick herself.

He reached out to grab her then stopped. He looked at the open door of the stables and let out a frustrated groan.

"Bella," he ground out, completely losing patience with her. He raked his hand through his hair. "_Don__'__t_."

She scowled at him.

A vein began to twitch at his temple.

She pursed her lips together, still glaring.

He took a step that lessened the distance between them.

Bella's lungs tightened and her skin prickled. She felt flushed all over.

She chewed on her lower lip and Edward's eyes dipped to her mouth. He looked at her and she heard his breath catch in his throat and she shivered.

He made a move towards her and then he stopped, clearly shaken by something and by a further need to catch his breath.

"What's it about these damned stables!" he growled, his deep green eyes glued to the sight of her lip caught between her teeth. "Please, Bella," he said hoarsely. "_Go_. Before I lose control."

Her legs turned wobbly and her lips parted. She couldn't seem to make them work. All she was capable of doing was to stare up at him. She felt herself swaying toward him.

"Bella," he said in a low, warning tone. His fisted hands at his sides were white, and his stance was rigid.

She looked at him, his darkening emerald eyes inscrutable as his brows came together.

She stepped back and turned towards the door.

* * *

[Angela]

**Two days later**

A hall attendant opened the doors to the entry hall as Ingrid showed her upstairs to the drawing chamber of the queen's quarters, promising to bring her a plate of refreshments. At the mention of food, distracted from her musings, Angela quickly whispered her request for her favored sweets.

"You're going to get a belly ache, eating too much of the French tartes," her cousin teased her.

"I do not care," she retorted. "The only reason I welcome Prince Grimoald is because he brought his own fabulous court chef," she said dreamily, already tasting the shortcrust creamy pie that only the French cook could prepare.

She sat at a large settee and waited for her mother and Rosalie to join her.

They were going to discuss Lord Worth's proposal to hold a tournament in honor of the foreign nobles visiting the castle. Of course everybody knew the princes and their entourage were in London only to vie for the queen's hand in marriage. And because this was the queen's tournament, there would also be a festival to last a week.

Bella was expected to make an appearance and join in their meeting but it would take awhile, she had a visitor that had everyone guessing who. It must be one of those old lords petitioning her sister for this and that favor and then more.

At the thought of her sister, she once again delved into her realization earlier about Bella and Lord Cullen. She had taken every opportunity to observe them, attracting attention to herself if their furtive glances at each other became too obvious.

It was heartbreaking to see her sister hide her feelings for the young duke. She was the most important person in her life, other than their mother, and she vowed to help her sister find her true happiness, even for a little while. She frowned, for she still did not know how this could be so. There was simply no chance for them to be together.

Her mother and cousin entered the drawing room, complete with her mother's waiting maids, and she set aside her thoughts and worries over her sister.

The Duchess of Aufforest was present too, along with the other wives of court lords.

Angela stifled a yawn, anticipating a long afternoon of planning and organizing. She knew they were not going to talk about the actual jousting and sword play part of the tournament. They were going to discuss the entertainment part of the event, the music, the food, and the roundel and pavane dances. She was sure that the wives of lords would spent the better part of the afternoon comparing fabric and silk, and trinkets.

It would be more stimulating if they were to have a dialogue on the unruly rules of the games, which she found too barbaric. Why, the jousting alone was too brutal and violent and in some jousting tournaments, it would only end if one of the knights on horseback was killed.

"There should be new rules in honor of the Merciful Queen," she interrupted the ladies, reminding all of them what kind of monarch her sister was.

They blinked, some nodded as if agreeing with her, while some were eyeing her as if she was seven years old.

"Tournament rules have not been changed in, why, since anyone could remember, Princess," Lady Pembroke said huffily.

Of course not, Angela thought. They were all content to watch battle-trained knights disembowel a fellow knight, thinking that winning at jousting meant murdering the opponent.

The older women politely maneuvered the now strained conversation away from her somewhat anarchistic suggestions but she was resolute and she kept returning to her point of argument.

She didn't dare look at her mother though, expecting a quelling look. She was in no mood for a reprimanding glare.

She did turn an oblique look at Rosalie, who was smirking at her and her eyes seemed to dare her to draw blood if she would not get her way. She returned her grin, flexing her fingers. Rosalie, who was only six months older than her, was her cohort and she knew she had her back, always.

All thoughts of debating fled her mind when the door was unceremoniously opened by two hall attendants and the queen entered, followed by a most appealing young man.

Angela's breath left her body as she stared open-mouthed at the tall, dark-haired man.

_Oh, Mother of God in Heaven! _

The official hall crier, opening his mouth to announce the queen's presence and of her distinguished visitor, abruptly closed it when Alice, who followed the queen inside, raised a hand for him to stop. The man bowed low and left the room.

Angela swung her gaze to Rosalie who was looking at her oddly, her head tilted to the side. She looked up again she couldn't help it, and locked eyes with the man's mesmerizing black eyes.

Bella made an expansive gesture, inviting the man to speak and to introduce himself to the excited bevy of court women.

The man bowed slightly to her sister, and the informality of the salute clued Angela in on who this might be. A high-born noble, perhaps the highest ranked in his kingdom.

"Forgive my hasty intrusion, _reina __viuda_," he inclined his head to her mother, who flushed and nodded her head regally at him.

And then, her heart hammering in her chest, he turned to her. "_Princesa_, I am charmed to meet you at last. I am Raoul."

_Holy_ … She gulped, and let out an embarrassingly noisy exhale.

_Bloody hell._

She had fallen in love.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading and the really, really nice reviews.

There's Part 2 to this chapter. After that, the tournament.

Spanish:

Reina viuda – Dowager queen


	37. Engagement Part2

**Stephenie**** Meyer****'****s** Cullens and their fixed physical ages (or their age when they were turned): Carlisle is 23, Esme is 26, Edward is 17, Rosalie is 20, Emmett is 20, Alice is 17 and Jasper is 20. Bella is 18 when she became a vampire. Stephenie has been quoted as saying she may expand on the Cullen universe and write novellas, sort of like long epilogues (and maybe prequels) for each character.

**Chapter33/Engagement Part2**

[Edward]

A week before the tournament, the Duke and Duchess of Kent arrived at the castle. He didn't know how his father managed to avoid him in the two days that they had been in London, but Edward wasn't overly concerned by the impending meeting with the duke, for Lady Kent brought his son with them.

"He's so much like you," his mother murmured, cradling the child sleeping in her arms. She tenderly brushed little Willie's blonde hair. He yawned, baring his almost complete set of teeth, and opened his green eyes at half mast. He closed his eyes almost immediately and went back to sleep.

They were alone in the chambers assigned to the Cullens as the queen's guests. Their own quarters which he shared with his brothers were across the hall. The rest of their staff was in the Cullens' London estate.

His mother carefully laid his son in his bassinet. She straightened, looked at him, opened her mouth and then closed it again.

Edward raised his brow at her, his expression encouraging. Before he left Cullen Hall six months ago, he had a brief talk with her. She could not answer many of his questions for she herself did not know much about his birth mother, but while he could without hesitance put all blame on the duke, his mother could never do wrong in his eyes.

"When are you going back to Kent?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"I am needed here, for the moment," he replied.

"Edward," Lady Kent said in a determined tone. She glanced sharply at him, her face set. "You are his heir."

He took a deep breath, looked at his son, and gave her what she wanted to hear.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Forgive him, Edward," she implored. "Come home. You belong to Kent."

He tried to say something but he realized that his throat had begun to close. He cleared it. "I will do what is right, Mother. You cannot ask me for more."

Lady Kent nodded her head sadly, a tear rolling down her cheek. He brushed it away and squeezed her hand, motioning his head to his son. "It will be as it should be. I promise you."

* * *

He took a long sip of his Bordeaux wine, peering over the edge of his cup as he listened to Lord Worth, the Duke of Aufforest, arguing heatedly with the Earl of Dundy, Bella's uncle. They were at it again, derailing discussions on kingdom affairs, as Dundy was bent on finalizing arrangements for the queen's marriage.

He felt something squeeze his heart and he clenched his jaw.

He was at the queen's council of advisers' meeting as one of the invited observers. The meeting was being presided over by his father and Dundy. He didn't want to be here, it was the last place he wanted to be, but he couldn't stay away either. He wanted to know how this would go, who she would marry eventually.

It was torture to hear them discuss each potential groom and not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if he should get up, perhaps kick his chair violently aside for effect, and in a loud voice declared his own bid for the queen's hand. He was certainly eligible, but she was a monarch not just a king's daughter. If she was a princess … Edward closed his eyes. If she was not queen his suit would be welcome. And she would be his wife.

But the obligatory reality was that she was queen and a rare, powerful queen at that. Many generations had passed since the last queen regnant ruled England and the opportunity to forge a marriage between two monarchs was something all the large kingdoms would pounced upon. Thus, enter the three princes and each of them would inherit their own respective thrones. When two monarchs marry, the resources of both kingdoms would be combined and the lands distributed to both ruling families. The children of this union would inherit both countries.

Edward understood the politics. While he was to be a duke, and Kent was now arguably the most powerful duchy in the land, he was already a subject of the queen.

The titles and wealth of all the English dukes and earls were all at the mercy of the queen. What they own – all the lands and gold – was bequeathed to them at the continued pleasure of the queen. Political-wise, marrying any one of them would not advance the throne or England's power overseas.

The princes, damned the lot of them, thought Edward, would bring new gold, other assets and more importantly, additional armament at the disposal of England. All of these would considerably strengthen English trade with the new territories, and such a marriage between two monarchs would naturally make the ruling class richer and powerful.

The Duke of Exeter has joined the arguing nobles at the main table. The council of advisers has seven members. When necessary, the dowager Queen Renee was invited to participate but only if permitted by the queen.

Edward knew Bella was aware that he was present at these discussions and he wondered if she was intentionally making him suffer. Surely she realized what her marriage would do to him.

It didn't help that each time the word "marriage" was mentioned, his father's eyes were on him, gauging his reaction, and he suspected he knew something about himself and Bella.

For Lady Kent's sake, father and son were not so obviously estranged in public, managing to exchange civilities when in company. The duke was leaving him alone and for his part, he has steered himself away from him, and it was only in these meetings that they could not entirely avoid one another.

"The queen should marry Spain," said Dundy, glaring at Aufforest. The council did not refer to the suitors as individuals but as dominions, as if the man behind the title was not important, and they probably weren't as far as men such as Dundy were concerned.

"Her highness has not made any decision yet," his father murmured, the only calm presence in the midst of red-faced council members.

"That's because that Irish war hound, MacDermott, has not bothered to stake his bid yet. My sources tell me though, that the queen is leaning towards Spain," Dundy insisted, obviously pleased.

Edward's entire body stiffened and he forced his jaw to unclench. Slowly, he put down his cup on the table as he feared he would ruin the metal, his hold was a death grip. He was hard pressed to relax his strained expression, especially knowing he was being observed by the duke.

Spain indeed, he thought, and he could not help scowling.

Prince Raoul of Aragos and Girón was too young and way too charming for his own good. But, he understood why Spain was especially favored by many of the English ruling class, because Spain has the most advanced fleet of ships. Aragos and Girón was a very prosperous kingdom and they dominate much of the trade beyond their borders.

On the other hand, Tirawley, Prince MacDermott of Ireland, was arrogant and overly fond of war. Tirawley was descendant of the Kings of Magh Luirg, the known warmongering Vikings of Old Eire.

Ireland was still very much in conflict since the kingdom's unification was still unstable. Obviously, the Irish wanted England for her gold and men-at-arms and England wanted Ireland for its proximity. Short of a bloody invasion – which both countries attempted before with immeasurable losses – there was no other way to join the kingdoms. The choices were either a wedding or a war.

"Who do you prefer, brother?" Emmett mock whispered to him. "Spain, France, or Ireland?"

Jasper, sitting to his left, was entirely unaware of the tension Emmett's tactless taunting created in his entire being. He leaned forward and grabbed the jug of wine. "Spain, for sure. Nobody trusts MacDermott, and Grimoald is too old."

Prince Grimoald of France was 44 years old, older even than Carlisle. The thought of that lecher touching Bella's rosy-alabaster skin was so repulsive that Edward was growling.

"He may be too old for the queen but damn, they make the best wines," said Emmett, draining his cup.

"He can keep his wines and swim in it, but he won't win any wars with it," Jasper argued. "The prince has buried two wives, each leaving him a daughter, to his disgust, and also left his coffers empty." He emptied his own cup with one gulp. "He desperately needs a new wife and if it would be the Queen of England, so much the better if he wants his father's favor back," he added.

Emmett nodded. "Henry the Tall would bar him from entering Paris without a wealthy bride."

King Henry of France had two younger sons and it was not a secret that he was disappointed with Grimoald's lack of male heirs. The king could very well by-pass his eldest son's claim to France and proclaim one of the younger sons as king upon his death.

France has never declared a king's daughter or any close descendant that happened to be a woman as heir presumptive and has yet to allow a woman to ascend the throne as reigning queen, not just an escort to a male monarch. Only England, Ireland, Spain, and Sicily had ever had a queen regnant or queens that reign in their own right.

Edward deduced, rather reluctantly, that Prince Raoul was the only one who seemed to have no ulterior motive, save that he was a prince and he needed to marry as was his duty.

He shut his eyes and cursed silently.

God, he hated court intrigues and controversies. Petty rumors, back-biting, jealousies, terrific ambitions. It was a _canis __canem__ edit_ situation whichever way one would turn to. Nobles, for what these _honorable_ titles implied, were basically a greedy lot, vain, and vengeful when they did not get their way.

Court life was a maze of complex contradictions and he would rather not have to do this for too long.

His jaw tightened and he took a deep breath.

But he couldn't leave, not just yet.

* * *

After the grueling, highly-charged council meeting was over to which the dissenting nobles reached no resolution to present before the queen, to Edward's relief, the Cullens were outside of the halls in a private meeting with their close allies.

"MacDermott is dangerous," warned his father. "Watch him closely during the tournament."

Edward agreed. Many in the castle were wary and anxious of MacDermott's arrival. "He wants his sister married to France, that's why he sent her here, to parade her in front of Grimoald," he said.

MacDermott had every reason to want to marry Bella whether she liked it or not, but the warmonger also desire a firm allegiance with France. If, and Edward tried not to imagine it too fondly, matrimonial negotiations between England and Spain would fail, and Peigin was married to Grimoald, then England would be vulnerable to a French-backed Irish conquer.

Scotland, on the other hand, remained a fugitive monarchy. There had never been out and out war amongst the three kingdoms, just uprisings and small bursts of conflict. But Edward was certain that in the next 50 or 100 years, an imminent and violent war would explode.

That was why in every generation, the English marry off a princess or a younger prince to foreign kingdoms to forge pacts and territorial treaties, either with Spain or France, or with Germany and the Norwegians that include Sweden and Denmark. The Italian kingdoms, and there were a lot of them, were too small and too concerned about their internal politicking.

And that was why the queen, during her watch, must negotiate a new and stronger alliance to secure England's future.

* * *

Edward turned to the Duke of Exeter and inquired in a low voice. "Have you anything on the witch?"

He had spent hours interviewing people about any number of possible locations where Victoria Argyll might be hiding. His Kent men had been coordinating closely with Lord Worth's trackers and spies for weeks.

Exeter, who was one of the fiercest barons in the kingdom, had agreed to help Edward find the wily witch. His family and the Cullens have always been close allies.

"Unfortunately, it is the same. I must apologize for the lack of any new leads, Edward."

He dismissed his apology and they spent another hour planning their next course of action.

Edward suspected that Victoria would make some move during the tournament. There were a lot of clans, local and foreign, that were expected to arrive any day now. Huge tents were already being set up for the event. Large tracks of castle grounds cleared for the tournament and the extended festivities afterwards.

* * *

"The witch will get help," he told Emmett later. They were watching Kent men at sword and archery practice with knights from different houses.

"She's a damn Montgomery, treachery is in her blood," his brother grunted, adjusting his bow and taking aim. He released the notch and the arrow flew at blinding speed, hitting its intended target dead center.

Emmett chuckled in satisfaction. His gaze swung to a crowd of noblewomen who were also watching the exercises. "Are you sure the princess is after Grimoald?"

Edward turned sharply and locked eyes with Peigin. She was surrounded by tittering ladies as if she was holding court herself. She smiled coyly at him and inclined her head to the side in invitation.

He felt his brows rise. Whatever Peigin was up to, she wanted to speak with him alone. He sighed. He had no time for her flirtations.

* * *

[Angela]

She had spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon in the queen's chambers. She had been trying, and failing, to catch her sister's busy attention for nearly a week, what with the suitors and the tournament, and high-ranking visitors passing through the castle doors in an endless manner.

And during the past week, she and Prince Raoul had struck a strange friendship, and this unsettled her greatly. He was different from the other nobles she had met. She wasn't sure how, exactly, except that there was something more to him. Something that made her heart twists when she thinks of him.

Angela loved her sister more than anything in the world she really did, but her growing affections for the prince was making her life miserable and hearing talks of a possible marriage between them was intolerable. He was here to court her sister. Then why did she always find herself in the same place that he was in, lately?

She told herself that she only wanted to know if the prince was a good, caring man. She definitely wasn't chasing him around. Prince or not, her sister deserved at least a friendship in her marriage, one that was founded on trust, and it was her duty to ascertain that the prince would be that kind of husband for Bella.

Angela closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. There was one trait that she shared with her sister. She couldn't lie very well, most especially to herself. And she wasn't about to start now.

She let out a sigh, squared her shoulders and stood up.

* * *

Bella was surrounded by two duchesses, several wives and daughters of earls and barons, and her own waiting maids. Her mother was not present in the little gathering, and she thanked Mother Mary for that.

She made a little curtsy, more than what was expected of her really, before the queen. A hush fell on the room. "May I request for a small amount of your precious time, my dear queen," she asked formally.

Her sister raised an eyebrow at her but she was smiling. She didn't have to say anything, the room cleared at once.

She sat at the settee opposite her, her head bowed. She was nervously wringing her hands, an action that was uncharacteristic of her.

"Gigi," Bella said suddenly, sensing something was bothering her.

She popped her head up, surprised. Her sister has not called her by her childhood name in years. She had been "Angela" to everyone since she turned nine.

"What is it?" she asked bluntly.

"I'm …" Angela gulped. "I love someone." She gritted her teeth at her cowardice, but she could not say his name yet.

Bella stood up and was across the room in an instant. She sat beside her and clasped her hands in hers. "I am happy for you, little sister. Who is this man?"

When she remained silent, her tongue stuck in the roof her mouth her sister narrowed her eyes at her. "He's not married, is he? Or betrothed to someone else?"

"Not _yet_," she said quietly and with meaning.

"And, so? Do I have to torture his name out of you?" she teased, and she squeezed her hands in encouragement.

She took a deep breath and commended her soul to God.

"_It__'__sPrinceRaoulI__'__msosorryBellaItjusthappened!_" she blurted out in one breath, stopped, and waited for the ax to drop. She knew she was being silly. Her sister didn't love the prince, she was in love with Lord Kent.

"Oh," she murmured, and she said no more.

She peeked at Bella and she was looking at her thoughtfully. "And does he love you back?"

"Yes," she said at once, and her heart skipped a beat for she knew it was true. Raoul felt the same way for her, she just knew it.

"He told you he loved you?" Her sister asked skeptically, closely watching her. She knew her so well.

"Not _yet_," she repeated, blushing.

And Bella laughed, cupped her face with both of her hands and kissed her cheeks.

"You are one brave soul, Gigi," she said, smiling.

She took her praise with delight and returned it to her. "So are you," she said sincerely.

"No, not I." She shook her head. "You have no fear, or restriction. You loved and will love wholeheartedly," her sister said quietly, looking away.

"And you don't?" Angela asked. "Or, you _won__'__t?_"

"_I __can__'__t_."

She took her sister's hand and squeezed it. "Bella, I … I know about … I mean I know you love Edward Cullen," she said hesitantly, for she didn't know how her sister would react with her knowing about her secret.

Bella's face seemed to drain of blood and she shut her eyes. She went quite still before she turned back to her, and when she did her eyes looked pained.

"Yes, I do," she whispered.

Angela gave her sister a hug it was the only way she could think of to comfort her, to sympathize with her.

"What will happen now?" she murmured. She felt tears in her eyes and she wiped them away.

Her sister said nothing, she was sitting very still. Her head tilted to the side and she let out a thoughtful, little sigh.

Angela swallowed, waiting uncomfortably for what she would say next, and considering how tensed she was, her life – specifically her love life – would depend on her sister's actions.

Bella's lips twisted thoughtfully. She finally looked at her and blinked, gloriously clear-eyed and focused, as if she had just reached a conclusion to her internal debate and pondering.

Her sister glanced about, her gaze finally settling on the doors leading outside, where the faint murmurs of her numerous subjects could be heard.

"I have duties to perform, decisions to make, but more importantly, I have to look after you," she said. She leaned closer and kissed her forehead gently. "I will take care of you, dear sister, and one day, you will be ready."

She nodded sadly. "Duty comes first."

Her parents have instilled in them a strong sense of duty as heirs to the House of Cygne. And then she frowned, just now registering her sister's last four words.

"Ready for what?"

* * *

[Alice]

**Day of the tournament, opening ceremonies**

"Let the games begin," Alice murmured, gazing around the many rows of tourney participants, the gaily festooned stands around the lists and melee, the beautifully dressed women, the heavily armored-plated knights who were practice-wielding their shiny broadswords, lances and maces after the pas d'armes where they had tested their fighting skills against one another.

The dozens of squires running around the lists, their expressions exhibiting both nervousness and excitement, were hilarious to watch. Many were stumbling in their frantic haste and getting yelled at by their masters for clumsily dropping bascinets or the scary-looking heaumes.

Members of the English court, the queen's family and honored guests, all of the wealthiest and powerful in the land, were all sitting and impatiently waiting for the official ceremonies to begin.

There was a color dress code, all Alice's idea, and spectators had to wear red or blue colors. All of the tourney players and competitors, in the meantime, were wearing dark green robes and the only distinguishing feature was the banner that they would carry, which was of their respective houses or clans, for display in the Tree of Shields.

The grandstand was designed around the raised platform where the queen's imposing throne chair was located. Bella certainly would be the center of the whole show, Alice thought, amused. Her cousin would hate the utter separateness of the dais for it was raised higher than normal and she would have to lean quite a bit to talk to the queen mother, already seated to the throne's right side.

Bella has not yet arrived and she frowned. She should have been here half an hour ago.

"Save this seat for me," she murmured to Rosalie, as she stood up.

"As if anyone would take your seat," replied her sister, smirking. "They're afraid of you, you know," she whispered conspiratorially.

Ah, yes. The spawn of the Bride of Baphomet, she thought, grimacing.

She was well aware that she seemed to have replaced Victoria Argyll as "The Witch" in court. She shivered at the thought and not for the first time, thanked the Mother Mary that they were not in Blackheart's time otherwise she would have been burned at the stake a long time ago.

Alice, with some difficulty, maneuvered around the many bodies occupying the queen's grandstand, stepping on a few of the ladies' toes. Of course no one dared to hiss or snarl at her, one of the perks of being feared.

She marched straight to the fanciest pavilion immediately to the left side of the grandstand, the queen's purple tent.

The area was curiously deserted but for Emmett Cullen who was standing about 20 feet from the tent's entrance, which was tightly closed. To her annoyance, he deliberately blocked her way when it became obvious that she meant to enter the queen's tent.

"I have to get the queen, everything's all set." She waved her hand in the direction of the melee.

Emmett shook his head and refused to give her entrance. She was about to snap at him when she heard faint voices coming from the tent. She went still and listened hard. It sounded like two people, a man and a woman, arguing.

She frowned up at Emmett and he shrugged.

And then she knew, and her resolve hardened.

"Lord Lumberland," she said slowly. "I think I should break that up before their shouts reach all of England."

Emmett sighed, rolling his eyes. He nodded, still wordless, and stepped gallantly aside with a bow.

The nearer she got to the tent, the louder their voices became. She took a deep breath and half-shouted to be heard. "My lady! Your tournament awaits!"

To Alice's surprise, the tent door was ripped open and a hand reached out and pulled her inside. Edward closed the flap door and turned back to glaring at Bella.

She glanced at the queen and then at him.

"Err, what seems to be the problem?" she squeaked very, very hesitantly.

Bella rounded on her and she stepped back without thinking. Her expression was furious.

"He's an insufferable … stubborn …iffrriiin!" She grumbled in frustration.

"And you are reckless," Edward bit back, though his voice was now quieter.

Alice cleared her throat and wished there was a hole on the ground where she could sink into and hide. She wondered, briefly, if there was a spell for that.

"Ah, I think I should go? But, Bella, people are waiting."

"I don't give a damn about them!" she hissed, back to glowering at her brother.

All of a sudden, Edward released a long exhale and moved closer to Bella. His annoyed expression softening as he looked at her.

The queen frowned at him for a moment, then she murmured, "don't come near me."

Edward sighed. "You summon me in here, _a chuisle_, asking me why I am keeping my distance, and now you don't want me to come near you?"

Bella's lips parted then she paused, blushing. She appeared to be not quite sure of what she wanted to say to him.

"I just don't understand you, Edward," she said in a disheartened tone. She looked up at him, blinking. She waited for an explanation but he didn't seem inclined to offer any.

After a few moments of exceedingly awkward silence, Edward seemed to suddenly remember that she was a reluctant audience to their lovers' quarrel, and he moved his gaze from Bella to her.

He offered her a grave nod. His brother did not appear flustered by the question.

What _has_ been happening between these two? Alice thought, baffled. She narrowed her eyes at him, somehow assuming that whatever brought this on, that it was his fault.

"The queen will be out in a moment," Edward said, and he smiled slowly.

Alice stared at him for a beat. She realized that she didn't need the Sight to see that he would fix this - whatever this was. She could see it in his smile, and in his eyes.

She nodded to the both of them, curtsied out of habit, and quickly exited the tent.

* * *

[MacDermott]

His head swung around, surveying the majestic castle grounds. He could hear the thunder of huge crowds beyond, yelling cheers.

His retinue followed him as he rode amidst the line of pavilions and smaller tents that had been set up for the tourney combatants and their servants, surgeons and other visitors.

He was pleased with his appearance and timing, it was exactly as he had planned it - an impressive entrance to capture everyone's attention, most especially Isabella's. Not that he needed to work at it, he thought with self-satisfaction. He glanced at himself and nodded with approval.

He was Tirawley MacDermott after all, the future king of the united kingdoms of Ireland, England and oh yes, those Goddamned Scots.

* * *

[De Burgh]

Gold.

She promised him _gold_.

He watched the queen intently.

And he watched Kent watching the queen.

Something would happen soon, and it would alter someone's life.

If he was lucky, it would be his.

Because she promised him _all_ of the Argyll gold.

* * *

*****a/n**

Latin:

Canis canem edit – Dog eat dog


	38. The queen and Edward

**Stephenie**** Meyer****'****s** etc.

**Chapter34/The queen and Edward **

[Edward]**  
**

**4 days before the tournament**

He couldn't quite decide if he was amused or annoyed by the lack of sufficient disclosure of where the queen was. He wasn't worried, he knew she was within the castle walls, but where exactly?

Bella quite clearly did not want to be found, especially during days after exhausting Receivers Hall petitions. He could respect her desire for privacy she had so few of those moments, inundated as she was with the limitless demands of kingdom affairs, but as her guard he would be remiss if he would continue to tolerate her disappearing acts.

She would often escape from all of them and no one knew where she was. They knew there were a lot of hidden chambers and corridors in the castle but Edward was annoyed that people, including himself who was looking after the queen's safety, were left clueless of her whereabouts.

The queen's castle was England's grandest and nobody or no one alive was certain of how many hidden places there were, exactly. Seven kings have made the castle their homes and in each of these reigns, each monarch had added rooms and halls to the castle, and the largest of these additions occurred during Blackheart's time, such as the use of wooden panels to line the walls of the private chambers, bigger windows with pointed arch and glass panels, and staircases.

He would concede that Bella needed her alone time. The queen's schedules were especially hectic these days. The nightly festivities leading to the tournament, for one, was taking up the time she normally spent with her family and favored subjects.

Edward let out a sigh. The last thing he wanted was to take away what little time she could find for herself. God knows, he had watched her closely every time she was in his sights but since he arrived at the castle a fortnight and four days past, he had been alone with her only twice. That was his own doing, for with talks of her impending marriage, he couldn't stand to be anywhere where any of her suitors would be lavishing attention on her. He'd rather not suffer it since in his mind, and in his cursed heart, she was his damned it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled a longer breath. He couldn't elude her for too long. He thought knowing she was near was enough for his peace of mind but even that was no longer satisfactory.

This was why Edward was now standing in the middle of the queen's main antechamber, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't want to avoid her anymore and he had decided to seek her out. But then, she had escaped to God knows where and was nowhere to be found.

He impatiently watched four of her ladies-in-waiting bickering in hushed tones about something, obviously clueless of the queen's whereabouts. They had banded close together in a panic when he entered the private quarters.

He felt eyes on him and he turned his head. Brown eyes so like Bella's gazed at him, giving him a level look. He fully turned to her and bowed, "My lady," he said in greeting. The mutterings stopped at once.

"Is my sister missing again, Lord Kent?"

His mouth quirked and he straightened, returning her direct gaze. "I am a servant to the queen's pleasure, my lady. I am prepared to wait," he said smoothly.

Princess Angela smiled at him. She turned to her own maid, said a few words, and within moments all the waiting ladies vacated the antechamber.

The door leading outside was wide open and Emmett stood there, his brows raised in question.

Edward subtly shook his head at his brother, which the princess noticed. She shifted her attention to Emmett.

"Lord Lumberland, close the door," she said with a grin. "I will bring your brother back to you," she added in a teasing voice. Emmett's brow creased, gave him a suspicious look but bowed to the princess, and finally shut the heavy doors.

"Your brother is quite canny and leery, but so very gallant, isn't he?" said Princess Angela, turning back to him. "It's no wonder Rosalie couldn't stop talking about him." She let out a giggle.

Edward just stood there stiffly, not sure what she was planning to do. He was fully aware that they were alone in the antechamber and anyone could barge in at any moment. He was also fairly certain that Bella would kill him if she was the one to enter the room and find them quite alone.

The princess walked across the room and pushed a wide wall panel that conceal a hidden door. She lightly tapped the door and it opened soundlessly. He was not surprised to see the hidden door there were hundreds inside the castle.

She beckoned to him and then she disappeared inside the secret passage. He unfroze himself and quickly followed her in. There were torches in sconces lining the walls of the passage and he shut the door.

It was a short walk and before he could warn her to be careful, she had opened another hidden door and light spilled into the passage. Cautiously, he again followed her inside.

He blinked at the bright windows and blinked some more when he saw the large and very feminine canopy bed made from oakwood. He glanced in surprise around the bedchamber and he gulped, for he knew whose room this was. The high ceiling and walls were elaborately painted and decorated, the floors were thickly carpeted, and the furnishings showed a delicate elegance that reflected the charm and graceful allure of its owner. It even smelled like her, sweet lavenders and roses.

The whole time that he was greedily absorbing this side of Bella that he was never privy to, her sister chattered on, mostly carrying a conversation with her self.

Edward turned his attention back to her, noting her nervous mannerisms and he smiled inwardly. He cleared his throat. "My lady, I beg your pardon, but I must leave now."

He looked around and tried to guess which of the two identical double doors lead outside the long hall to the antechamber.

"Oh, call me Angela, Edward," she said offhandedly, darting from one hidden door to the next.

Bemused, his mouth slightly agape, he watched as she opened three concealed doors. Then she said, "there are three hidden passageways here, and I'm not sure how many are secret tunnels that lead miles away from the castle."

Edward was in fact aware of how many secret doors were built in the queen's bedchamber, formerly her father the king's. There were five and another two that were tunnel doors but it was dangerous to traverse this escape path alone because there were false passageways to mislead any pursuers, some leading straight to the watery dungeons. After Blackheart's death, two of the hidden passageways had been sealed.

"My lady -"

"Angela."

"Princess -"

"_Angela_, Edward."

He blinked and shook his head, his heart twisting as her tone of voice echoed that of her sister's when she too wanted him to call her by her given name. He smiled a little, remembering, and tried again.

"Well, where is the queen, do you know?"

She looked at him sheepishly. "I don't know," she admitted. "I am guessing this door." She pushed the second door wider. "See? Come, look."

Sighing deeply and with exasperation, he obligingly stepped forward and looked where she was pointing at. A little dirt, soil, grasses and some cut leaf. He squatted and inspected the barely discernible footprints of someone with small feet, the queen's obviously.

He stood up and frowned at the dark passageways. He didn't like the thought that she was walking this dark corridor by herself, unprotected.

"I'll wait in the antechamber," she murmured behind him. He turned his head to look at her. She returned his stare calmly. He didn't even wonder anymore at what she was thinking about, letting him invade the queen's privacy like this. He simply nodded at her and grabbed one of the two lanthorns on the wall.

It was a long corridor, dark, and musty, until he felt a breeze. He sniffed at the fresh air and followed it.

Heart beating faster now, he reached another door which was ajar. He found an empty lanthorn hook and carefully placed the candle in it. He pushed at the door, surprised to see an unlatched gate which he also slowly pushed open.

An unexpected vista greeted him and he breathed in the cool air. It was the middle of the day and clouds were hiding the glare of the noon sun. He looked around, amazed. He had heard of pocket gardens such as this one, built high up and adjacent to castle chambers but he had never seen one. Since it was not visible from the ground, it was ideal as a hiding, secret place.

There was an arched entrance to the garden and a path leading to a slightly elevated ground. He advanced forward, already anticipating what he would see. He saw the rows of red and white flowers first before his eyes landed on her.

She lay flat on her back on the grass, her unbound hair spread around her head. Her hands on her stomach cradling the musical box given to her by one of her vassals. The Siren's Song, he mused, and she was its perfect embodiment.

He paused, pulse accelerating at the sudden realization that they were quite alone, _very_ alone. His body tightened at the thought. He smiled slowly to himself, enjoying the warm feeling of desire.

* * *

[Bella]

She was indulging again in one of her favorite fantasies where she was lying on a field of grass exactly as she was now, and she could hear children laughing, much like the tinkling of her musical box. Any moment now and she would hear his voice, too. She smiled in anticipation.

"Enjoying your solitude?" said her mate, his deep baritone sounding amused.

Her eyes still closed, Bella grimaced. She was getting _really_ fanciful and that was a bad sign. Not that she didn't love imagining his velvety voice but he was … just … beginning to sound _too_ real. She was used to it, these Edward-centric fantasies. She had years of practice.

"Bella …"

This had gone on for far too long and she had, finally, lost her mind, she thought, dismayed. She not only could hear his voice but also feel that familiar tingling when she was in his presence.

Frowning she opened her eyes and she heard chuckling. She sat up and located him immediately. He was casually leaning one shoulder against a vine-covered pillar.

Her heart did a little flip upon seeing him. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

Edward had stopped his quiet laughter and was now staring at her too, his green eyes inscrutable. The glint in his jade look was what alerted her dazed senses that he was not a fantasy this time.

She averted her eyes, suddenly shy, and sat with her legs tucked underneath her. She folded her hands in her lap, dropping the musical box beside her. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

She heard him exhale a rushed breath and without looking at him, she just knew he was raking his hand in his hair and messing it up into its usual wild disarray.

"Bella -" he started again and then stopped. He muttered something under his breath and let out another long sigh. She heard the pad of his booted feet on the grass and in a moment, he was sitting down beside her.

She looked over at him and saw him frowning over her herbary collection. Then he caught her looking at him and his lips formed his crooked half-smile.

"How are you?" he asked quietly, his brow creased slightly. "I should have asked you before, soon as I saw you, but I was … distracted."

She blushed and looked away. She knew what he was asking her. She shrugged one shoulder delicately. "I do what I can," she murmured.

"From what I could see, you are doing more than you think," he said softly, his eyes gentle. "You are a good queen, Bella."

She smiled shyly at him and ducked her head. She picked up her musical box but she didn't open it. "Most of the time I have no idea what I am doing. And while I have the council," she said, looking up at him, "it's still very overwhelming. Your father has been very patient with me from the beginning. He was here up until about a month after you … arrived," she said, hesitating on the last word, remembering her sadness and worry over his long absence.

"Can you forgive me?" He asked, hearing her brief pause.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to let go of her fear and doubts and shyness, and looked up at him again with watery eyes. "Why did you stay away for so long, Edward?"

With a tenderness that was sometimes surprising for a man of his size, he touched her cheek gently. "I am sorry Bella. I cannot tell you my reasons, maybe not ever. But I am here now and I will be here for as long as you have need of me."

She wanted to blurt out that she would want and need him forever, for as long as she lived, but she kept her secrets to herself. She had nothing to offer to him yet, bound as she was to her duties. She could only offer him these stolen moments.

Bella stared at him for the longest beats, wondering how she could keep him, not because she ordered it but because he wanted to be with her. What right did she have to ask him to forsake his birthright for her?

She was going to hurt him, she knew it, and asking him to stay made her feel worst of all. But the world, her world, was shifting and he had only been back barely a month but he has already changed her.

"Don't do that again, Edward," she whispered, her face painfully flushed. "Don't leave again."

"Or what?" he asked gravely. She raised her eyes and she saw a teasing slant to his mouth.

Her heart fluttered. If she had thought she loved him before – and she had loved him all her life – that was nothing compared to what she felt after she had gotten to know him. She matched his suddenly light mood.

"_Or_ I will marry MacDermott and you will have to call him your king," she said with equal graveness.

He dropped his teasing manner and scowled. He opened his mouth but no words came out and Bella was pleased that he was at a loss for words.

"Bella," he finally managed, "not that idiot."

She swallowed convulsively, her cheeks going from pink to pale. What did mean by that? Did he mean that he would see her married but not to Tirawley? That he would not mind seeing her with someone else? Did he care at all?

"Who then?" She was torturing herself by asking him but she had blurted out the question without thinking. She watched his face closely. "Raoul? Grimoald?"

The corner of his mouth tightened. "Your advisers prefer Spain," he said. "He would advance England in trade and more importantly, in armament."

Bella fisted her hands on her lap and glared down at her white knuckles.

"I don't want to marry any one of them," she said in a hollowed voice.

She felt him grow still, felt his eyes boring at the back of her bowed head. She refused to look up at him. This was the first time that she had voiced her lack of enthusiasm about ongoing matrimonial negotiations. Somehow, it felt right that it was to Edward that she would finally admit to her true sentiments.

"Why?" His voice was rough.

She shook her head, mute, her eyes still cast down.

"Bella, look at me," he said in a tone that told her she had no choice.

Slowly, she raised her head and glanced at him briefly before focusing somewhere of his right ear. That brief look was enough to quicken her heartbeats. His eyes were smoldering. She visibly started and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

"_A__ chuisle_ …"

She knew what the Gaelic words meant she had asked one of the visiting Scottish nobles long ago. It was the endearment that made her look at him, finally.

"What do you want from me?" he asked in a low voice.

Her heart leapt, the corners of her lips quivering.

"I just want …you," she whispered.

"For how long?" Edward said softly but she could detect a definite edge in his voice. He touched his finger to her chin, tipping her face up to his.

For the rest of your life, she thought, and she felt like suffocating on the unspoken words. She couldn't utter these words to him, not yet.

"A while," she said instead, looking away again. She blinked in rapid succession before she could say more, her chest pounding with panic. She had to tell him more or she would lose him.

"I need you, Edward," she whispered. She could feel her cheeks flushing deep and hot but she forced herself to continue. "It's … it's your choice, I will not burden you or compel you to stay against your will but p-please …" Her voice broke and she crushed any remaining dignity she has left. "_Stay __with __me_."

She lifted her head and her eyes caught his, and somehow his hands were on her shoulders, gripping her with such intensity that she couldn't look away.

"Bella ..." His voice was low and urgent. "God, Bella, you don't have to ask me."

"Oh, Edward -"

He touched her lips and she felt her hot breath on his fingertips.

"No," he murmured. "It's enough."

Bella had time to breathe, barely, before his mouth came down on hers. He kissed her with slow intensity, and the way he was doing it was like marking her as his, claiming her for his own, and she pressed herself closer to him, eager to be his.

He pulled back a bit and his hands cupped her face, his eyes searching. His glowing eyes made her lightheaded and she needed more. He kissed her again, his lips hungrier this time, caressing, waking her body like only he could.

He laid her down on the grass and she reveled at the feel of his weight pressing against her, and the way his tongue was stroking hers. He nibbled and licked, stirring her slow fire into a steady burn. She reached up and buried her hands in his hair.

He was heavy and it was thrilling. She lolled her head back as his lips left hers and kissed the column of her neck.

"_B' __fhèarr__ leam__ fhìn__ gu__ robh__ thu __agam_," Edward breathed against her skin. "_A__ chuisle,__tha__ gaol __agam __ort__ …_" His words seemed torn from his throat. He kept repeating them over and over again.

"Edward," she moaned, and she moaned again when he brought his lips to hers. His tongue swept in, exploring her warmth.

She gasped when she felt his large and callused hand on her ankle and bit her lip when his hand move up her leg. He stilled as if asking for her permission to do more, and she gave it by tightening her grip on his hair and tugging. He glided his hand over the soft skin of her thigh and urged her legs to part, and he settled in between. She loved his weight on her. She was burning and his heat poured through her body, it swept through her arms, her belly and down to her toes.

She loved him, she wanted this and she wanted what only he could give to her. And knowing that he was staying made her giddy. She felt her happiness rising within her until she couldn't stop a giggle.

She felt his mouth curve into a smile against her lips. He didn't stop kissing her and he sweetly captured her bottom lip between his teeth. Then he lifted his head, all his heat in his eyes. He raised a brow in query.

She beamed at him and she couldn't stop smiling. She also felt her cheeks blushing furiously when she became conscious again of his hard body atop hers.

"Tell me," he murmured, his lips skimming her jaw to her ear. He nipped her earlobe gently and she lost her train of thought.

His lips slid lower down the side of her neck and began sucking on her pulse, making her gasp aloud.

"Tell me, _a __chuisle_." His mouth became more insistent and when his teeth grazed her skin, she shook and whimpered.

He stopped his torture and leaned his forehead lightly against hers.

She lifted her hand to his face and softly caressed his cheek. He brushed his mouth against hers.

"I'm just happy," she whispered against his lips. His kisses became gentle for a second before he pressed closer again, becoming more urgent and passionate. One of his hands was still gripping her thigh and he pulled back, letting his hand slip down her leg toward the edge of her skirt.

He grinned at her and to her disappointment, he pushed himself off her. He sat up and gently pulled her to him. He cradled her head in his big hands, looking deeply into her eyes.

"That is all I ask, Bella. Your happiness means everything to me," he murmured and he breathed Gaelic words softly in her ear again, making her entire body shiver. Then he lithely stood up and offered her his hand, and helped her straighten her dress.

"Edward?" She couldn't help an anxious tone. What would happen now?

He took her hand and squeezed, but she could tell that he was deep in thought, miles away from her at that moment. Then he gave her an indulgent smile. "I will take care of you, _a chuisle_."

* * *

[Edward]

His name was entered as one of the combatants in the jousting event, so was Emmett, de Burgh and the soon-to-arrive MacDermott. They were all participating in the individual games but not in the melee which were team games where knights fought in arm-to-arm combat or on horseback.

He supposed he should comply for a few days and join in the mock battles, but how was he going to concentrate on the games when threats and dangers were lurking all around the queen? He only agreed to participate in the lists when Jasper promised him he would shadow Bella for the entire tourney period.

At the moment crowds were surging at the site of the lists to watch Emmett and a baron in a pre-tournament jousting exercise.

"I must say that you are one lucky bastard, Kent," sneered De Burgh, who had sneakily crept up behind him.

Edward gave him a brief, uninterested look and then turned back to watching the jousting. Both combatants were now atop their horses, lances held firmly to their sides. They would have called the charge, but Emmett's opponent's flustered squire was still attaching something to his master's boot.

"The stench of your confidence in the queen's favor emanates from you like vapor and it offends me." De Burgh spit the words out of clenched teeth.

Edward only sighed in irritation. He had no time for pesky, jealous nobles and de Burgh was certainly green with envy. Fortunately for the arse-swipe, he wasn't in a bad mood and so he was disinclined – for the moment at least – to yank his head off with his bare hands.

"It is the odor of your envy that you smell," he drawled in a bored voice.

"You will be wasting your time and effort romancing the queen, Kent. She will never marry a subject," de Burgh snarled lowly.

"That eliminates you too now does it, de Burgh?" he replied, still using a dismissive tone.

A snicker disguised as a cough sounded from behind him and he turned. His eyes widened in pleased surprise at seeing his friend.

"My lord," Friar Turloch intoned formally. He ignored de Burgh, who eyed the two of them in disgust and suspicion before stomping away.

A roar from the crowd followed by cheers made Edward turned back to the games to see Emmett's opponent unseated from his horse, his lance splintered into pieces.

"You remember my brother, _mo __charaid_?" He grinned and clapped on the priest's shoulder in greeting.

"Ah yes, the Cullen brute. Well done!" he yelled, raising his fist at Emmett in salutation. And then in a beat, his expression sobered. "A moment, Edward? I have a message for you."

In an instant, Edward's mien turned serious. "What is this about?" He walked briskly towards the courtyard and the priest followed him, huffing with effort.

"I believe you have been searching for Victoria Argyll?"

* * *

Friar Turloch followed Edward to the back of the courtyard near the armament stockade. He halted in his tracks and demanded that he tell him why he was there.

"I was on my way to the Byrns," he began in his roundabout way of storytelling and Edward forced himself to be patient. He told him about encountering mercenary barons in some tavern between the Byrns and London and overheard talk of Argyll's widow.

"We know she's here in London and we've been on alert for any of her cohorts," he told the priest. He asked for more details of the conversation he had espied and was beginning to feel disappointment that there was nothing new to impart.

"But there is more," said Friar Turloch, squinting his eyes and scratching at his chin. "The name Cambridgeshire was mentioned. Mean anything to you?"

And Edward's mouth parted in a feral grin.

* * *

[Bella]

Bella regarded her uncle in dismay. Usually she managed to divert his attention to other, more pressing kingdom affairs but apparently, not today, not with the tournament at hand, and a tournament honoring her impending marriage at that. She could scarcely avoid the topic.

"I am always at your service, my dear queen, but I am also the head of the family. You are England's crown," he said quickly when he noticed her mother frowning, "but I am your eldest male kin, therefore who you marry is both a personal and official concern of mine."

She watched her mother closely. Her expression was inscrutable and only gave her a nod before turning back her attention to the window. Her actions said she was willing to let the Earl of Dundy have his moment.

"Now," her uncle continued when she remained silent, and he resumed his pacing around her antechamber. "As I was saying, Spain will give the kingdom the most advantage and," at this he paused and gave her mother a brief look, "he is not bad to look at." He coughed, obviously embarrassed by having to point out this completely unnecessary attribute of the prince.

"He is handsome," Bella said, finding no harm in saying it. It got the desired effect for her mother swung her gaze at her, eyes narrowed. Bella smiled innocently at her. She turned back to her uncle. "There is no hurry, is there?"

So far, she had craftily avoided active discussions with her council of advisers, mainly using MacDermott's absence as excuse.

The earl's face seemed to bloat, it was so red. "Why, you must marry at once!" He blurted out, flustered.

"_I_ must marry _at __once_?" she said slowly, eyebrows up. She instilled a menacing tone to her voice, exactly how Edward did it at times. She snickered silently, in satisfaction, when it momentarily intimidated her overbearing kin.

Her uncle's poise crumbled and he started stammering his apologies and again reminding her that he was the old king's favored cousin and that he had been tasked to see to it that she was married properly.

Bella opened her mouth to contradict but then stopped. She reined in her temper and fixed a smile to her face. She was going to have to be subtle because after the tournament, she could no longer delay announcing her decision, unless she could think of something clever to satisfy her advisers for a short period of time while she defer proceedings.

Suddenly she sat up and just like that, she knew what to do.

"Uncle, I have made a decision."

Her mother gasped and turned her full attention to her, eyes wide.

She leaned forward. It seemed expected. "I will marry _only_ after my younger sister is securely and _advantageously_ wedded herself."

Her words jolted the earl. "Why, that is -" he started to protest but she cut him off.

"No more, uncle. This is done now," Bella said firmly, squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin haughtily. To her mother, she said, "best think of something, Mother, for soon as Angela's married then I too will choose my husband."

"My daughter, it could take years. She's only 15 years old!" Her mother said aghast, her face paling.

"You had me when you were 16, remember?" Bella said with a shrug. Her mother was in fact betrothed from the moment of her birth and came to live in the castle when she was 12 years old in preparation for her future role as consort to the king.

Bella glanced over at her flabbergasted uncle, now quiet as a tomb, thank Mother Mary, and he seemed to be having a difficult time gathering back all his thoughts. The queen mother, in the meantime, was still trying to digest the turn of events.

And so it begins, she thought with an inward smile.

* * *

[Edward]

He felt like hell these past three days. With Jasper and the friar, he left the castle to raid a manor suspected of harboring Victoria Argyll on that same day he received the information from the priest.

The family that owned the manor has been arrested, their belongings confiscated, and the children sent to the nearest kin.

There was evidence in one of the rooms in a concealed wing of the house that Victoria had been there. A confession later from the lord and lady of the house confirmed suspicions. That was where he had been since, outside of the castle, and at times in the dungeon grilling crucial information from the traitors that had been taken in the last weeks.

There was a plot alright, a plan to do the queen harm.

While he was out interrogating suspected persons, his father and Exeter has been closely monitoring de Burgh's movements. He hasn't been caught in any damning acts yet, but Edward was confident that the goat-swiving bastard was going to make a mistake sooner or later. What he wanted to know and the source of his frustration was that aside from de Burgh, who else was in connivance with the witch?

* * *

He had also spent the last three nights pondering his conversation and unplanned tryst with Bella. He pushed aside the memories of the other things that they have done _to_ each other besides talking, because he was impeded enough as it was without bringing his physical frustrations to the fore, along with his worries about her security.

It didn't help that he kept receiving her summons from, of all people, his brother, the fastidious Emmett.

"You are going to get me whipped," Emmett growled at him.

He snorted. He had just entered the courtyard and has jumped off from his horse. He waited for a page to lead his horse away to the stables before replying to his brother.

"That is certainly a tempting thought," he muttered. It was amusing, if he was in the mood to be amused, to think that Bella has become comfortable enough with his brother to trust him as her emissary.

"God's Teeth, Edward, would you go to her already?" Emmett hissed at him, his voice very low. With just a day's wait before the tournament, the castle, castle grounds and extended field was teeming with visitors. The entrance courtyard to the castle, normally deserted of people, was crowded.

"There are too many eyes on her," he replied tersely, his voice barely a whisper.

He clenched his jaw in frustration. He wanted to go to her, his whole body was hardening at the thought of being alone with her again. He had dreamed of making her his countless times in the past and more so these last several days.

He eyed his surrounding warily, the back of his neck prickling with the awareness of unseen watchers.

He was desperate for her with every fiber of his being but his instincts which he had never doubted demanded his caution.

* * *

[Bella]

**Tournament, day 1**

She was standing in the middle of the tent, alone. She could hear the excited crowds outside awaiting the performance of nobles and knights to demonstrate their prowess before the assembled gallery. It was opening day processions after all.

In a moment, the flap door was pushed aside and Edward entered.

Her heart stopped and then it was beating faster. She had been waiting for this meeting for days and when finally she was face-to-face with him, she froze.

One would think she would have grown used to his presence, but every time, it took her by surprise.

In another moment he took several steps toward her and he reached out, wrapping his arm around her back and in an instant she was pressed against him.

His lips found hers and he wasn't gentle, and he wasn't teasing her and this was no sweet seduction. His tongue parted her lips, swooped inside and tasted her like a starving man.

She grabbed the back of his neck tightly and clung to him for all her worth. His hand in her back pressed her closer until she could feel ever sinewy line and tight muscles of his body. There was no space between them and she would have melted and slipped boneless on the floor if he wasn't holding her up.

His large hands glided over her ribs and her breathing hitched, making her arch closer to him.

"I have to go," he murmured, nibbling at her lips.

"No!" she gasped, her hands grabbing the front of his tunic. He couldn't leave her yet! All she seemed to be doing was to wait and wait for him and he was never there when she needed him, like he promised her.

He pulled back, caught her hands in his and tugged gently. "Bella, this is not safe. I will come to you soon." He leaned in to kiss her once more, a lingering kiss of temporary goodbye.

He had taken two steps away from her when she snapped, and she did something so childish she would cringe at her behavior later. One moment she was standing still in the middle of the tent and the next she was twisting around and grabbing a delicate porcelain cup and she threw it on the ground where it shattered into pieces.

Edward turned sharply and looked in shock at the ruined, expensive cup, a gift from the King of France.

Her anger and frustration evaporated when she heard the rather loud shattering of porcelain. Bella chewed her lower lip, horrified at what she had done and even more horrified of how close she was to tears.

Edward exhaled strongly through his nose and she could see he was trying to rein in his own temper. He lifted a brow as he continued to look at her.

"I'm sorry," she said with numbed lips. "I … Oh," she whimpered, her hands covering her face in shame. "I didn't mean to do it."

"Don't apologize for something you wanted to do," he said in a low voice.

His words were a direct blow and she felt like kicking herself again. Of course she wanted to do it so she did it, acted out her resentment and insecurities.

"You are right. And _I__ am__ sorry_, Edward. Please accept my apologies," she said, struggling to gain back her composure.

He looked at her for a moment longer and then bent down and started to pick up the porcelain fragments.

"No, leave it," she muttered. He ignored her and she just stood there, her face flushed with embarrassment and remorse.

Edward dropped the shards in a bin and after a long, silent look at her, walked to the door. Then he turned back to her, his expression still unreadable. "Be careful, Bella."

His unemotional tone pierced her heart and all her doubts resurfaced again, especially now that he was leaving. She simply hated the sight of his back walking away from her, like when he did when he left her at Cullen Hall.

"Is that all you care about? The safety of your _queen_?" She almost sobbed the words out.

"If you are acting in a thoughtless manner, then yes!" he bit out, finally losing his patience with her. "Your complete disregard for your safety is a nightmare to me!" He plunged his hand in his hair and was almost growling at her. "You do not dismiss your guards so you could be with me, it is a foolhardy, heedless thing to do, Bella!"

"I have legions of guards, I am always safe!" she screamed at him. "I don't need you to watch me all the time!"

"No, _my__ lady_, you could be surrounded by thousands of armed men and still, you are _not_ safe. Assassins lurk in every corner of the castle, every Goddamned ambitious noble out there want what you possess and will slit your throat the instant I, or any of your protectors, turn around!"

"I am not completely helpless, Edward! I can take care of myself!" But Bella felt certain that _that_ wasn't true. She knew she couldn't defend herself in the face of a traitor's attack but she wasn't about to admit her weakness to him.

They continued to face off each other glaring when they were both startled by a call from outside. It was Edward who first recognized who the woman was, she was still raging and her mind muddled.

A very guarded and hesitant Alice entered the tent. She eyed the two combatants warily.

"Err, what seems to be the problem?" she asked in a little voice, squirming.

Bella watched Edward as he rolled his eyes in a thoroughly male condescending manner that she couldn't help her ire from rising once more.

"He's an insufferable … stubborn …iffrriiin!" she half-screeched, stomping her foot.

Alice jumped nervously and directed an accusing look at Edward.

"And you are reckless," he countered back, but his voice was now subdued.

She barely could contain her temper when her cousin reminded her about the tournament and she hissed at her, saying that she didn't care about what was expected of her.

She took a step back when Edward moved closer to her and her senses rioted at his nearness. Her heart, which had been pounding hard in the last several minutes, skipped a beat when he was looking at her like that, as if she was truly the most precious thing in the world to him.

"Don't come near me," she said petulantly. His eyes, now burning with some hidden emotion, locked with hers. He murmured his endearment to her and she could feel herself melting, yielding to him once more. He asked, confused, why she had been summoning for his presence if she didn't want him closer now.

"I just don't understand you, Edward," she said softly, dejectedly.

He remained silent, his intense yet tender regard unwavering from her. He said some reassuring words to her cousin and then she was gone.

His arms encircled her and he murmured, low and close to her ear, "you don't have to understand me, _a__ chuisle_, only know that I am here." His lips found the soft spot just behind her ear and she shivered. Then he took her hands and kissed each of her trembling fingers.

It took every ounce of her strength just to remain standing there, her breathing difficult. As he kissed her one more time, she realized that Edward had no idea how much he really meant to her, how much she craved his presence and how much she wanted his every, single touch.

She couldn't say the words yet, words that would bind him to her, but she could give him something that would seal that bond tighter than any covenant could.

* * *

*****a/n**

Thanks for reading.

Gaelic:

B' fhèarr leam fhìn gu robh thu agam – I wish you were mine

Tha gaol agam ort – I love you

Mo charaid – My friend


	39. The queen and Edward Part2

Still **Stephenie**** Meyer****'****s**

**a/n:** Warning: lemons below. If that's not your thing, skip it, or scan over the words, up to you :)

**Chapter35/The queen and Edward Part2**

[Bella]

Edward was distracted.

Since she only has eyes for him, she had watched and observed every fleet of expression and emotion on his face, every graceful movement of his body from the moment he appeared on the lists until he hoisted himself up on his horse. He sat still, nonchalant and outwardly patient, his haume tucked under his left arm. This far she couldn't see his eyes but she imagined them a dark green as he eyed his opponent.

Bella could tell that he was not wholly focused on the game and this worried her, he could get wounded in the joust, or unseated and break his neck.

"He certainly knows how to announce his presence," her mother said in a loud voice, nodding to the other side of the tilt, and her words were greeted with polite murmurs from men and giggles from women who were near enough to have heard her.

Bella ignored the talks around her, and she didn't once spare a look at the man who was at the opposite side of the lists. Her eyes were fixated only on Edward.

It was MacDermott, of course. And she suspected he was the reason Edward was distracted. Pompous, narcissistic, vainglorious fool! She thought of the prince.

Before the lists were called to begin, Tirawley MacDermott in an obviously staged gesture rode to the grandstand not half an hour ago and declared his suit for the queen's hand. And he was very boastful while he was at it. He flaunted his title and wealth to the rest of the equally vain people in the gallery and many were terribly impressed.

Bella only nodded regally at his offer of marriage as was expected of her. Then he did the last thing that she wanted from him but was prepared for it. He offered her a token to carry as favor while he jousted. It was an arrogant thing to do, a ploy for the dramatics.

Her eyes searched for Edward. He was watching the spectacle like everyone else, his expression enigmatic.

She gritted her teeth, her eyes still on Edward who was now staring at her. There was no way that she was going to accept the token. She was a monarch and above this custom.

It was the queen mother who stood up, emitting gasps from the crowd, and she graciously if a bit anxiously accepted the token. Nobody was really surprised by her gesture, not even MacDermott.

* * *

It was over before it even began.

Her heart and blood were racing the whole time and she had difficulty catching her breath. She watched the two combatants face off, horses' hooves pounding impatiently at the earth and then they were off.

Edward advanced forward in a burst of action. His horse was faster than MacDermott's, his lance pointed menacingly at the prince. She thought he was blasé and maybe even bored earlier, but he was not indifferent now he was wild and furious. She could see it in the way he was charging at full speed.

Her breathing stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut when the tip of their lances first collided. There was a perceptible pause and then she heard the awful sound of wood breaking and splintering, the scream of a horse, the gasps and silence of the crowd as her ears registered the thud of a metal-enclosed body on the ground.

A roar broke out and for several heartbeats only the yells of the crowd, the thud of excited feet and the clapping of frantic hands could be heard all around the field and the grandstand. She remained seated, her eyes still closed.

Slowly, when the noise was finally dying down, she opened her eyes and watched as MacDermott was awkwardly being assisted to his feet by not one, but three squires. Edward remained on his horse, his haume still on but he seemed to be looking in the direction of the grandstand.

When MacDermott regained his feet, he lifted his haume and glared at Edward and then abruptly turned and strode away, his body rigid and angry. There were no jeers from the spectators, only silence accompanied his exit.

It was only the first joust there were no declared winners yet, but when the prince was out of sight, the crowd erupted in cheers and hailed the victor who silently and slowly approached the grandstand.

Bella wanted to rise from her throne chair, she wanted to acknowledge him, and she wanted to claim him. Her hands twitched and she was about to defy etiquette when again, the queen mother stood up, sent her a sidelong glower and she stepped forward.

She nodded to Edward who had removed his haume. He kept his gaze off her but she saw the corner of his lips twitching in a crooked way. Her breath hitched, for she knew _this_ smile. It was for her and her alone.

He bowed to the queen mother and amidst loud cheering, exited the lists.

* * *

It was tradition that at the end of a day of jousting, this would be followed by feasting, music and dancing. In the middle of festivities, Bella left the Great Hall and she summoned her mother to her bedchamber.

She sat perched on her bed, her head cocked to the side, trying to look calm and decisive.

Her mother was the key, she knew that. As soon as she had confirmed from both her sister and the prince that they were indeed, in love with each other, she realized it was up to her to talk to the queen mother.

Angela certainly baulked at the idea of approaching her mother about the change of wedding plans, a _big_ change. Raoul has offered to travel back to his homeland as soon as possible to talk to his father, the king, and he would have to do that but first, Bella has to secure her mother's help.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" She knew she had just shocked her mother speechless. "She loves him, Mother. She should have him."

"But Raoul came here for you!"

"Yes, and he would leave with Angela. Only you can accomplish that, Mother," she said convincingly, and smiled faintly.

"This is going to be a political disaster, Bella! His father will never agree to this, not when the proposal was intended for you," she said worriedly, wringing her hands in agitation.

Bella sighed impatiently. Everyone was desperate to get her married off. She thought furiously of how to get her mother on board with her plans because she wasn't going to be able to carry with the ruse for long.

Her mother started a verbal panicking and she hurried to explain. "Mother, listen to me. I will not marry, not now."

That stopped her short, verbally at least.

"It is crucial that Angela marries Raoul. It is the only way to bring our two houses together. Surely you can convince the king to consider this option?"

Her mother's lips parted in astonishment and she didn't even appear to have spared a moment to consider what she had just said.

"Bella, you cannot _not_ marry, it is your duty!"

"I will have nephews and nieces, Mother, the succession line will hardly be threatened," she argued with exasperation.

"But … _why_?"

Bella suddenly felt uncomfortable. Her mother was looking at her with such dismay and disappointment as if she had just destroyed her world and it was crumbling all around her.

"I don't _want_ to marry," she said softly, staring at a spot on her bed. Not from her current roster of available suitors, she thought sadly.

She heard her mother gasp and she abruptly halted her fretful pacing. "Bella, you're not -" And she stopped, swallowing convulsively, her eyes wide. She attempted again and she could hear a slight fear in her tone. "You want someone else."

Bella opened her mouth to say yes, that she desperately, wholeheartedly wanted someone else, but then she realized that her mother did not exactly ask her, there was no question mark to her statement.

Her mother waited, because she did not know what to say.

"I have done my duty, Mother," she said at last. "I have kept this kingdom together."

Bella looked up at her and by the way she was looking back, she knew she had an almost savage determination in her eyes. She certainly felt it. "I do not blame anyone, not Father for dying, and not fate. But I carry with me the deaths of thousands, and thousands more have had to sacrifice so much so I … _we_ could still claim this crown, this castle."

She made a pained sound and it shivered right into her soul. "I will remember every death."

Bella stood up and stared at her. "I know what was lost and what was gained to get here," she whispered. Her mother looked bleak, haunted, and she knew she was thinking of her murdered husband and son.

She reached out and let her fingers brush her mother's cheek. "You're not going to lose anyone anymore, I swear to you."

Her mother turned suddenly, piercing her with the ferocious look that had always reduced her and her sister into trembling ninnies. But, Bella convinced herself meeting her eyeball for eyeball, not today.

"This man," Queen Renee said in a low voice. "Is he worth it?"

Bella leaned forward, and she felt herself glowing. She had to physically stop herself from smiling hugely as pride brimmed within her. She managed to nod slowly and said, "Yes, with everything that I had to give, he is worth it, and he is going to be mine." And then she said nothing more.

The queen mother looked at her for the longest moment and she detected grudging approval in her eyes, which now met hers with decision and assurance.

"What did I tell you before, my daughter? The day you left the castle after your brother was killed." Her last three words were said in fainter tones, tinged with remembered pain. "Do you remember?"

"You told me to survive this," she said. She stared at her mother and she smiled. "And I will."

"Happily and intact?"

"Very happily and whole," she promised her.

Her mother's chin rose a fraction. "Very well, then. What is it that you want me to do?"

* * *

[Edward]

He remained silent and he let everyone in the room argue their way through the discussion. But he had to smile at his father's behavior, which he was certain was chosen in part to annoy the devil out of him.

They were at one of the council's hidden rooms, which meant they were discussing a matter of grave import – the threat to the queen's life.

He had explained to them his plans earlier. He had told the group of his intention to leave the tournament and ride north of London, and _this_ time, they would capture Victoria Argyll. His missive reports were airtight and there was no doubt now that they were going to find the witch in a recently revealed location.

What to do about the traitor de Burgh was what was being discussed now.

"We don't have incriminating evidence that he was part of the plot to kill the queen," the Duke of Exeter argued calmly. "It's not going to look good if we're to accuse a powerful lord with equally powerful allies, with nothing more than overheard gossip."

"I'll interrogate him myself," Edward said and he couldn't help an anticipatory grin.

"Waste of time," his father said, leveling him with a hard stare which if he was 10 years old might have worked. "He will deny his involvement."

"It's not the point," Edward replied. "To get to the queen, the witch will need her accomplice, and we're fairly sure that is de Burgh. As soon as Victoria hears that we have him under lock and key, she would hesitate to continue with their plans."

"That would not stop her," rebuffed his father.

"No, it won't, but it would make her desperate and in her desperation," he paused and slowly smiled. "She will be careless and indiscriminate."

The Duke of Kent puffed up his chest in preparation for a long debate but Exeter, who now caught on and was agreeing with Edward's plan, was speaking at the same time that Jasper was, nearly drowning his father's own loud arguments.

Amid this chaos, the door suddenly opened and Emmett walked in. He gave Edward an uncharacteristic nervous look, then cleared his throat and said, "Her grace, the queen, will be joining the council in this meeting."

The men stood up at once and Emmett stepped aside to let Bella inside the chamber.

Edward caught his breath. The last time he had been in the same room with her was when he visited her tent two days ago. He did not like the way they parted then, and he tensed, glancing over at Emmett with a raised, irate brow. His brother just shrugged and pulled up the chair at the head of the table.

Her eyes briefly met his and they were cautious, inquisitive, before she sat down.

She was the queen and she had a right to know about all plots to assassinate her, but he was loathed to have to tell her about Victoria and his failure to capture this perennial source of threat. This discussion would only bring back cruel memories of King Charles and the crowned prince's own deaths, both by Argyll's traitorous hand.

Edward could tell that Bella was not comfortable, her stance was wary and her face was paler than usual. He wondered if he was the only one who noticed that beneath her façade of queenly confidence, she was unstrung.

He glared at Emmett for bringing her to the meeting, he should have summoned him first and he could have prevented this, told her some watered down version. He knew it would be unfair, and ultimately unwise, to leave her out of the loop. As a subject of the queen, it was his duty to tell her everything. But she was not only his monarch damned it! She was his and _his_ alone to protect. She didn't need to live in fear. There were many men and women whose job was to worry _for_ her and about her.

"I want to know," she said in a soft but clear voice. Her eyes again locked with his and she blinked, a little color returning to her cheeks.

The Duke of Kent quickly yielded to her demands, and launched a briefing at once, updating Bella of what had been discovered and done in the past weeks, and in the past months.

Edward watched her closely when Victoria's name was mentioned several times. At the end of the long briefing, she was looking at his father in a thoughtful manner.

"Who is helping her? You've listed James Argyll's old allies, those that have yet to be captured. But it seemed to me that Victoria has new friends. Who are they?"

"Your grace, we have our suspicions and truthfully, half of the kingdom is under suspicion," his father said evasively.

Edward silently snorted. He could have told him to not bother deflecting Bella's inquisitive questioning. She was on to him now.

"Carlisle," she said and he heard tenacity in her tone. "My father once warned me that the men who will kneel before you to cut your own meat for you, is the same men who will use that same knife to cut your throat."

Edward watched her lips pursed slightly, choosing her words carefully. "There are always assassins lurking in the castle," she said in a softer voice. "They are almost a part of my household." He was startled at what she had just said, for it was his own words, said to her in frustrated anger.

She turned to him, and something about her tone scared him. He could never deny that look. He opened his mouth to divulge the suspected assassin but his father beat him to it.

"De Burgh," Lord Kent said.

She visibly winced. She didn't anticipate that. Her next words, while true, made him want to wrap his arms protectively around her.

"My sister is equally in danger." She addressed everyone at the table this time. "If they succeed in killing me, she is next. I don't have to remind you that she is the _last_ of the Cygne line."

There was tensed silence that followed until his father filled the gap by reporting on de Burgh's surveillance.

"What about Victoria?" The silence that fell on the group was now awkward and thorny.

This was something that had yet to be decided upon.

He wanted to lead the search and capture party but his father and Exeter speculated that this was what Victoria was expecting and he could be riding into a trap. But Edward was adamant and unyielding about this he wanted to catch the witch himself.

"I ride tomorrow, your grace," he said, breaking the silence. "My men are already at the location as we speak, and they have confirmed that it is her present hiding quarters."

The blood drained from her face in under a second. Edward hoped he was the only one who noticed the tightening of her mouth and the slight twitch to her left eye.

He was looking at her with a casual, offhand expression, a subject reporting his mission. But he was silently begging her to keep calm, tried to reassure her with his eyes that he would take care of this.

Her delicate eyebrows came together and she was staring at him as if he had betrayed her somehow. Unreasonably and to his discomfort, he felt guilt.

_Later_, his eyes communicated to her silently. _I__ will__ tell__ you __all_.

He could see a trace of panic in her expression and in the slightly faster rise and fall of her chest.

His father, who was seated the nearest to Bella, coughed loudly and then he shot him a look which he met straight on. _Bloody__ hell_, his sharp stare seemed to say.

He cleared his throat. "Your grace, err …" He tried to say something to divert the queen's attention. He stopped though, as she wrenched her gaze from him and directed a barely-disguised angry glance at his father. "Is there anything else you would like to know, my lady?"

She stood up suddenly, and everyone hastily followed suit. "That is all for now," she said rigidly.

His father and Exeter immediately fell behind the queen as she exited the chamber.

Emmett glanced over at him, one side of his mouth quirking, before he too left the room, leaving just him and Jasper.

He hadn't noticed that his younger brother had been looking at him with a puzzled expression the entire exodus episode. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinted at him, and then it widened.

"Is there something going on between you and the queen, Edward?" he hissed in a low voice.

His only reply was to growl out the most vicious, most foul curse he could think of.

* * *

[Bella]

"… and Raoul said we will live at the Palais de Andalusia. It is a port island and the king wants him to learn shipping before returning to Aragon. Oh, Bella! I will see the world!"

Bella smiled absently at her sister and nodded in her general direction for good measure.

"… so wonderful! But don't worry, Bella, I have convinced Raoul that we would make England our home, too. I simply cannot leave you …"

Bella heard her sister's excited chatter, but she wasn't really listening. She gulped down the wine she had been in the process of sipping.

She felt her anxiety rising again and she forced herself to get her breathing under control. She felt so powerless and the only person who could ease her mind, the one man she could not control, was leaving the next day. The corners of her lips tightened with dread.

Was the witch planning some vile trap for him?

Oh, who was she deceiving here for surely Victoria still wanted him! She was insane and evil and she would not give him up and would never stop until she was dead or …

Startled by Angela's hand waving rather suddenly in her direction, she put down the cup and sat straighter.

"I need Alice."

* * *

She could do nothing but stare at her cousin for several beats.

"For days … nay _weeks_ I have looked and looked and I can't feel her, get a sense of her. It's almost as if ..."

"What?"

"I don't know, Bella. She knows I will look." Alice just stared at her, too absorbed inside her mind to give her the answers she was seeking. "Perhaps … perhaps … But what spell is she using?" She mumbled to herself.

Alice looked very worried and then she jumped to her feet, too restless to sit and began to pace. They were in the queen's bedchamber.

She stopped and looked at Bella's concerned face.

"Edward knows where she is?" She suddenly asked, startling her.

"Yes, he leaves tomorrow." Bella stood up and grabbed her cousin's hands. "Do you at least see if he would be safe? All of them? Jasper rides with him, too."

Alice shook her head and closed her eyes, and she could see that she was thoroughly disappointed with herself.

"I have to go back to my room," she said weakly. "I …" She gave her an apologetic look and hastily left the bedchamber.

* * *

She wandered to her sky garden and flopped down on the grass. She stared up at the late afternoon skies, and she saw nothing really for what seemed like hours.

Bella had spent so much of her life regarding Edward as an invincible force. He was so strong, intelligent, self-confident, and so brave. People were drawn to him, a natural-born leader.

Even when the witch had him imprisoned, she never thought Victoria could actually destroy him. Injure him, yes, but to damage his fierce spirit? Never.

Bella thought her head might explode with worry. He was powerful both in body and mind, but he was still flesh and blood, and he has his limits.

The sun had long since given way to the rising full moon when Bella left her sanctuary.

* * *

The evening's festivities would be longer than in previous nights. It was the eve of the last day of the tournament.

She was sitting in her throne chair, her mother and sister to her far left, and Tirawley was to her right, and besides him sat Raoul and further to the side, Grimoald. The seating arrangement wasn't by degrees of power or favor, otherwise Raoul would be nearer the queen. It was casting of lots - and she was told the princes used straws - that decided whose among the three would have the honor of the immediate right-hand privilege.

MacDermott leaned his head to the side and in a voice that his other seatmates could not overhear said, "You will choose me, sweet Isabella, our two countries are destined to be one."

Bella chose to ignore his insolence and gave him what she hoped was a condescending look. "I don't have to marry you for that."

He shot her a rather badgering look in return. "My feisty Isabella, the last war has decimated your ability to conduct warfare. It has to be this way, and you _will _marry me."

She looked at his face and he was angry, furious even. Tight white lines marred the skin around his mouth. She must have gone pale at this display of male dominance that Raoul noticed.

The normally insouciant and carefree prince reached an arm and gripped Tirawley's, who whirled around and was almost snarling at his competitor.

Raoul nodded grimly to her and to the Irish, he said something softly menacing in Spanish that she could not hear. Tirawley spoke several languages including Spanish since Spain and the Mediterranean belt were his main source of middle trade, and whatever he was hearing now seemed to subdue his dangerous temper.

In a blink, Emmett was by her side and there was a flurry of harsh, urgent whispers amongst her guards and the Irish guards.

Bella just sat still and prayed that Edward had not noticed what was happening up in the dais. She didn't think she could stop him if he had a mind to detaching Tirawley's arrogant head from his shoulders using his bare hands.

The damnable prince laughed suddenly and the tension was broken. He accepted a drink from one of the earls and in a swift change of mood, was now apologizing to her. "I am only in love, forgive my zealousness," he said with false charm.

Bella managed, just barely, to contain the bile that was struggling to escape her stomach.

* * *

Edward was unaware of the near brawl, because he was gone.

Bella had kept close watch on him during the first few hours and then lost sight of his tall figure. But sometime in the last hour, he had completely disappeared from the Great Hall.

Something akin to panic began to pound in her chest. He wouldn't leave tonight, would he? She thought, distressed. He couldn't just go without seeing her first!

She indicated subtly to the Duchess of Aufforest, the head of the queen's ladies of the privy, that she was leaving the festivities. The blaring of the trumpet, which immediately silenced the Great Hall, signaled her exit.

"I am to be left alone in my quarters tonight," she whispered to the duchess as soon as they entered the private hall. Her maids-in-waiting were closely following behind.

"As you wish, my lady," she murmured.

"No hourly inspection or hidden watchers," Bella said nonchalantly. She felt her face burning but she persisted on acting indifferent.

The duchess stumbled but she quickly caught herself. "For the whole night?" She squeaked, blinking in surprise.

"Yes."

"But my lady, Lord Kent left instructions -"

"No vigil outside of my bedchamber tonight," she said firmly. She glanced up and down the hall, placing one finger to her lips to further shush her up.

As part of her nightly security arrangement, women sentinels such as Sigourney would visit her bedchamber regularly to check up on her while she slept. She had endured this intrusion to her privacy, which had been rigidly implemented by Carlisle in the past months, only because she had ordered the same close watch on her mother and sister. An austere security detail was one of the drawbacks of being members of the ruling family.

"Oh, and Katherine," she called to the duchess as she was entering her bedchamber. "Bring Rosalie to me."

* * *

The visitors' chambers were in the south tower. From the Great Hall, a web of hallways led to that section of the castle and there was no way that she could casually walk along these halls without alerting dozens of sentinels.

Fortunately for her, and it was her castle after all, she knew of a secret passageway that would land her directly where she wanted to be which was right in Edward's room.

It was truly fortuitous that he was placed in this particular room because it was one of the only two of six chambers in that hallway that have secret doorways. She hoped Rosalie was correct in her directions because the last thing she wanted to happen was to stumble into another guest's room.

Bella caught her lower lip between her teeth, telling herself to walk slowly in the dark corridor, which was starting to give her the worst crawlies. She held the lanthorn high above her head and prayed that she would not encounter some skeletons along the way, be it human or some small animal, for who knew what was hidden or buried in these rarely used passageways.

All the emerging doors from this side were marked so it was possible for anyone to actually locate the correct chamber. When she finally found the one she was looking for, she was suddenly gripped with anxiety that it would be stuck.

She carefully propped the lanthorn against the dirty stonewall and pushed the door with all her might. She stopped breathing when it creaked mightily loud. She quickly extinguished the light and she braced her shoulder against the door and pushed harder until a gap appeared, large enough to squeeze through.

The room was dark and she waited a few moments for her eyes to get used to the dark.

No one leaped at her, or screamed at her sudden appearance. The room was empty but she was not disheartened. She used her back to push the hidden door shut. Then she stood still, listening. There were servants that slept nearby sometimes if a visitor requested it. But there was only silence and she let out a sigh of relief.

When her vision had adjusted to the dim, she saw that there were two cots pushed against opposite walls, and one was large enough to accommodate two.

She slowly smiled.

She removed her cloak – grimacing at the dust and dirt in the fabric - and her shoes. She paused for a moment and blushing, she slid off her overskirt but kept her undergarments on. She had already removed her main dress and headpiece before she left her bedchamber.

She sat on the bigger bed and waited.

* * *

[Edward]

God, he was tired. It was a long, tensed day of last-minute preparations to ensure the mission was going to be a success.

He longed for sleep but his entire body was still too taut to relax.

Before seeking his bed, he detoured to the Great Hall to check on the queen. He was both relieved and disappointed that she had apparently gone to bed herself. He had hoped that he could steal a few moments of privacy with her before he left at dawn.

Emmett then reported to him a near fight in their hands that involved – no surprise – that cussed MacDermott. That Bella was in the middle of what could have been a highly dangerous rumble made his blood freeze.

Content and assured for the moment that she was in the safety of her quarters surrounded by guards, and the closely watched MacDermott was in his own pavilion outside of the castle, Edward exited the hall to find his own rest.

* * *

He shut the door quietly behind him, allowing his eyes to adjust in the dark, only a faint moonlight filtering in from the window. He hadn't bothered to bring a torch with him.

He had just removed his boots when a movement caught his eye. He didn't pause to reconsider but dropped to a low crouch and with a warrior's instinct, grabbed his short knife from his belt and sprung up cat-like. He was onto the intruder and had him cowed in a heartbeat.

The intruder was pinned against the wall, his hand on his neck when he realized that he, was a she.

_Peigin_. And he swore. He contemplated wringing her neck for the woman has truly lost her mind. How many times did he have to shun her unwanted attentions?

The woman gasped and she let out a rush of breath. He inhaled her scent, his heart stopped and a familiar heat traveled up his spine.

He whirled around, bringing her with him and he drew the curtains from the window to let in more of the light.

He blinked.

"Bella, what the hell are you doing here? Has someone tried to hurt you?" His hands roamed over her arms and back inspecting for any injury.

She took a deep breath and slowly released it. She shook her head.

"I … please …" she whispered, closing her eyes. She hugged her arms to her chest and in the dim chamber, he could sense rather than see her flushed face.

He reached out and captured her hands in his.

"What is it? Tell me." He worried that someone or something had scared her and he motioned impatiently toward the door.

She opened her eyes and they glistened as she met his. "I'm not hurt."

He stared at her in confusion and then went still, his anxious senses now easing enough that his body could feel hers. He was used to encountering many layers of clothing on women and was shocked when he saw that she was wearing only a thin chemise.

She swallowed and he realized he was no longer looking at her face, but at what her undergarment was barely concealing. She tensed. Their bodies were close against each other and he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

He snapped his eyes back to her face but not before he noted that his hands were not exactly steady. The moment was charged, the silence rattling the air.

"It's not safe for you here, Bella. I'll take you back to your room." He made to release her hands but hers gripped his harder instead.

"No!" she said. And then again, calmly. "No, Edward."

"Bella …"

"Edward, please. Be with me."

"You don't know what you're asking me -"

"_Make__ me__ yours_."

He was stunned. Her eyes were alight with a passionate fire that mesmerized him and there was something heartbreaking in the way she was offering herself to him.

He was lost but the more overwhelming thought was that he wanted to. God, he was dying in the wanting. He wanted to lose himself in her and never let go. But a portion of his mind, a very small part, was still thinking, still cautious.

"There are risks, Bella, _a __chuisle_. I could … I could get you with child. You are quee -"

"No, you won't," she said softly.

He opened his mouth, hoping he could say a protest, a warning. But there was nothing, just his harsh breathing.

"I've taken care of it," she said in a shy yet determined voice.

He stared at her shining eyes, the light from the moon seemed to leap against her hair, making her look fierce. A woman who knew where she belonged. It made him want her with an intensity that almost brought him to his knees. He was going to lose it, he knew. His body was beginning to be consumed with his lust for her.

He tried one last time as he felt his resolve melting away. He released her hands and cupped her face. He has resigned himself to an entire life of watching over her, and perhaps returning to Kent some day in the distant future. He knew he would never remarry. She has to understand this.

"I won't have you just the once," he almost growled.

Her face turned a deeper crimson and he could hear her quickened breaths. Their breath mingled, hot and heavy.

"And I won't be here for only 'a while'," he said huskily.

"I will want you always," she whispered. She went on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth against his. "Only you." She bit his bottom lip.

He deepened the kiss, his hand gliding down the length of her back until it curved over her bottom. He pressed her body closer and up against him. When she squirmed against the evidence of his arousal he groaned.

He wrenched his mouth from hers and lifted his head, his eyes searing the closed bedchamber door. This was not happening tonight, not here, he thought in frustration. He forced himself to step back and she, clinging tight to him, followed.

"Bella, not here," he rasped and tried to clear his throat and his mind while he was at it. "Emmett – he could come in any moment."

She stroked his jaw and leaned in for another kiss. "He won't," she whispered against his mouth. "Rosalie's distracting him." He felt her tongue tickle all along his jaw line and up to his ear.

"With what?" he gasped as she bit his earlobe.

"With the Italians."

"What?"

"Weaving," she murmured as she continued to lick his skin. "The Italian _contes_ brought their looms with them." Bella let out a little laugh, the sound positively musical.

His hand caressed her cheek and in an instant, God help him, he made a decision. In one quick movement, he bent and lifted her up in his arms. She gasped, laughed, and clung to his shoulders.

Up until the last minute Edward was still trying to convince himself to delay this, that she was not ready, that his leaving on the morrow was making her reckless. Again. He should let her go tonight, but instead his hold on her as he carried her to his bed only tightened.

His breathing grew shallow as he carefully laid her down on the white sheets. He whispered her name and touched her cheek. She smiled sweetly up at him.

And he knew then, deep in his bones, tonight _was_ inevitable. He loved her so much, wanted her so much that it terrified him.

Her chemise was silky and flimsy, easily shed from her body. The sight of her bare skin, pale and smooth in the moonlight, unleashed a growl from within him, a primitive sound of ownership. His clothes joined hers at the bottom of the bed.

He was careful of his weight as he covered her body. He felt her surprise when his heated skin pressed against hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her steady so he could drink in the sight of her flushed, beautiful face. His eyes roamed down, and he visually consumed her. Pure pleasure shot through him as his eyes skimmed her nudity. He shuddered with desire.

His eyes locked with hers as he let his hands caress and mold her ribs, the sides of her breasts, her waist and her thighs, and in between. He kissed her everywhere, letting his tongue teased where his fingers had just been.

He caught his breath when she let out a shaky moan of need and she gasped his name. Repeatedly.

His thigh wedged between hers as he nuzzled her neck. She whimpered when he bit her skin. She trailed her fingers down his side to his hip and then, timidly, she reached down and gripped the wrist of the hand between her legs.

"I will be careful," he said gruffly. "Trust me, _a__ chuisle_."

She said nothing but her eyes were loving, and trusting. To his delight, he felt her thighs slide apart and he removed his hand. He settled his body against hers and went immediately still.

He gritted his teeth, hard. The urge to slam into her was testing his control and he savagely forced himself to remain still, poised above her.

"Edward?" Her voice broke and was unable to finish. She reached up, touched his cheek, and brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. "You won't hurt me," she breathed. "I trust you with my life."

Her trembling hand glided down the length of his front, to his abdomen until it stopped, hovering below his navel. "With my heart and body," she said so softly he almost didn't hear the words.

His smile spread slowly across his face. "You are brave." He dropped an indulgent kiss on her nose. "And you are mine."

He wanted to feel her touch on him, his muscles leaped and tightened at the thought of it.

He touched his hand to hers and both of their fingers wrapped around his manhood. She smiled in awe, and her eyes slid from his face and stared at what she was gripping. Her hand twitched, grabbed, and he forgot to breathe.

One of her hands suddenly pressed against his chest exploring his skin. He didn't think he could take it anymore and with quick movement, his hands fastened around both of her wrists in a sudden burst of possessiveness, and pinned them above her head.

"I cannot wait, Bella, I need …" he rasped. "_Now,__ a__ chuisle_."

Bemused, her eyes glowing with her own lust she nodded and bit her lower lip.

He moved, positioning himself above her. He felt her, all of _her _and he worried that she was too delicate, too chaste. He bit his own lip until he tasted blood. _Holy God_, he groaned to himself. He was going to hurt her after all.

He was large and demanding, and with her gasping plea to take her, his body jerked and he entered her.

She sucked in her breath, her whole body stiffening. _Bloody hell_, he was hurting her and he wasn't even all the way in.

"Breathe, love," he said hoarsely, releasing her hands.

He touched her rigid thigh, she was so tensed. Her breathing was quick and shallow. He held himself still, giving her time to get used to him. After a few heartbeats, she nodded her head and she arched her back a little and the movement allowed him to push forward.

He leaned down and sucked the soft skin behind her ear and flicked it with his tongue. Gasping, distracted as he had intended her to be, his hand slid between their bodies, found her and pressed deep. She gasped again, loudly. Her fingers around his arm curved so that her nails were digging onto his skin.

"Relax," he murmured, stroking gently, and then not so gently. His hips moved and he pushed inside her further. Bella let out a breathy moan and arched her back.

"Feels good?" he asked. The way she felt around him was making him clench his jaw hard, trying not to lose his mind. He continued with his ministrations until her breathing became ragged.

He shuddered as he felt her quiver. He lifted himself up on his elbows and he began to move within her. With half his mind on his own pleasure and half on hers, he listened to her moans and gasps and when these turned into pants, he thrust harder.

His hold on his control snapped when she screamed his name and called out her favorite saints. He took her mouth in a passionate kiss, muffling her cries, and buried himself to the hilt.

* * *

His back felt like he had been whipped but he didn't care. He smiled wickedly. He didn't realize she had scratch-worthy nails.

Edward watched Bella sleep. He wanted to wake her up, wanted to touch her again, to make her his again and again, but time was not theirs to indulge in. In less than an hour, it would be light enough to ride out.

He touched her anyway, he needed the contact.

"Wake up, _a__ chuisle_," he murmured, kissing her tiny ear.

She sighed and slowly opened her eyes. "Can't I stay here?" she whispered, blinking, and shut her eyes again.

"Open your eyes, Bella, I'll have to get you back." Her reply was a moan. He chuckled softly and with persistence, was able to get her to sit up and to get dressed, albeit drowsily.

When she showed him the secret passageways, he scowled at her.

"You could have broken your neck in the dark!" he hissed, pulling her behind him as he traversed the dark corridor, the re-lighted lanthorn barely illuminating the ground.

"Edward," she said softly and with such satisfaction that he stopped walking, and turned to her. Her smile made his heart leaped in his chest. "It was worth it."

* * *

**An hour later**

He needed to leave. Now.

"We've been planning this mission for weeks. We cannot postpone this any longer," he said brusquely.

He couldn't believe that his sister was blocking his way, preventing him from saddling his horse. His men were waiting outside, all impatient, their beasts chomping at the bit.

Edward had breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't suffer the same pleading to abandon this morning's raid from Bella, who just an hour ago, he had left in her own bedchamber, safe and guarded.

Alice was almost in tears, begging him not to go.

"Edward, she's not there! You are needed here."

Edward was torn, but kept his doubts to himself. He wanted to believe her. Hell, she was sighted, she knew things. But he wanted Victoria captured and put away and no one was going to stop him.

"Alice, cease. I am grateful for your concern, but this has to be done."

He smiled blandly at her and quickly saddled his horse.

* * *

[Bella]

She knew she was making herself sick with worry but she stiffened her spine and spared him her crying and begging, and let him go.

She shouldn't scowl either, not when she was being watched by thousands that came for the closing procession of the tourney winners.

Bella chose instead to dwell on his gentleness, and his passion, and _Mary,__ Mother__ of__ God!_ The way he loved her like she never imagined he could, and she wanted him to take everything that she could give.

Last night's memories tickled every corner of her mind and body, and her trembling hands sank on the arms of her throne chair.

Tournament ceremonies were exciting with colorful pageants but Bella looked on with unseeing eyes, lost still in his arms. She almost smirked at herself, thinking that if she thought she was tormented by her wanting of him before, she was maybe more rabid now, a rival to the witch's own insane obsession of Edward. Almost. There was a crucial difference. She would die for him, not kill him for it.

"Smile, my daughter, the princes are giving you tribute," her mother interrupted her musings.

She blinked away her Edward fantasies and nodded gracefully at the riding men before the grandstand, all resplendent in their custom fineries.

She tried to be gracious, but she wished with all her heart that Edward was amongst them.

* * *

The Receivers Hall was cloaked in an expectant silence, all eyes on the queen.

The last day of tourney festivities were still being celebrated in the Great Hall but a few of the high-ranking nobles and select foreign noble houses' representatives were in the smaller hall, awaiting Bella's decision.

The Earl of Dundy shushed the murmurings in the hall and turned to her, eyes cast down. He knew what was coming, and he was still not happy with it.

She took a deep breath.

"I am honored by the presence of three of England's greatest allies." She began. "I, and England, and all our dominions, will continue to support and respect our sworn pact of allegiance."

She paused, scanning the faces of those around her. "As queen, my country and this kingdom, will remain my priority." Silence greeted her words. And then she smiled, a perfect mimic of her mother's legendary charms. "You might say that I am married to my country; my people are my children." She laughed lightly and she was relieved when they joined her, albeit theirs were tinged with nervousness and wariness.

She forged on.

"England is my husband," she said next, and she instilled all the power and authority she was born with in her voice. "It will remain so, for now." And that was all she was willing to announce. Suffice it to say, and everyone knew it, that she had just publicly turned all offers of marriage down.

She heard gasps from some of the women – the loudest from Peigin, no doubt – and felt the glaring daggers in the direction of the Irish delegates. From Grimoald himself, well, Bella smiled when he gave her a one-shouldered Gallic shrug and was apparently taking the rejection in stride.

She thought the worst was over, but then all hell broke lose.

There was a roar and a spate of what sounded like very vile Gaelic invectives. She heard the hiss of sharp broadswords being drawn, and women screaming on top of the men's yelling.

MacDermott was ranting, marching angrily in her direction, his grim-looking guards flanking him.

An arm shot out and hauled Bella out of the way and when she looked up, Carlisle and Emmett were standing before her, blocking the Irish's descent upon her.

* * *

"The misborn whoreson's left the grounds, and soon, England," Carlisle said tersely, and then he stiffened and looked appalled. He bowed to her, "pardon my rudeness, your grace. I mean you no disrespect."

She waved his apologies away.

She was too numb, and too dazed by events of the evening. "I am tired, Carlisle. I wish to retire now."

Carlisle, Emmett and the other nobles bowed their heads and did not look up until she had left the council room, which she suspected would soon be known as the war room.

* * *

With a sigh of relief, she stepped into her bedchamber and shut the door behind her herself, dismissing the servant who normally opens and closes doors for her.

She sighed again, closing her eyes. She leaned her back against the door and wished once more that she was back in Edward's arms.

"Well, well, sweet Isabella. You have been naughty."

She froze.

_Mary,__ Mother__ of_ -

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and every drop of blood drained from her face.

* * *

*****a/n**

Sorry for the cliffie.

BIG THANK YOU to everyone who leaves reviews and for the newcomers for alerting and favoriting.

Just two more chapters in Part 4.


	40. Catch and conquer

"I'm hoping to do it someday because I know that's what people want. _No __matter __what__ book__ I__ put__ out __from__ here__ to__ eternity__ they'll__ want__** Midnight **__**Sun**_." – **Stephenie**** Meyer** (June 2011, USA Today article)

**Chapter36/Catch and conquer**

[Alice]

She was afraid.

Something was coming.

_Someone_ was about to rise up from hell and wreak havoc on all their lives.

"What do you see?"

She raised her troubled eyes and saw her fear mirrored in Jasper's.

"Death."

* * *

[Bella]

_No!_ She screamed inside her head, furious, shaking.

_Oh __God, __not __now, __not __again!_

All she could think of was that Edward would maim and tore him to pieces. Burn his mutilated carcass and then bury his ashes in filth.

"Move, queen," MacDermott snarled.

Before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, a concealed panel cracked open and a giant of a man stood there with ropes and what looked like a hooded cloak on his arm. She noticed absently that his hair and shoulders were covered with cobwebs.

She thought of breaking into a run. She considered it only for a second because the truth was, she was terrified. MacDermott had never looked meaner or more unhinged to her.

"Tirawley …" Her mouth was dry and her heart seemed to have stopped only to resume at a maddened, blood pounding speed. "Desist now or I will take _half_ of your cursed land and cast out your entire misbegotten clan," she said with clenched teeth, lips numbed.

She was trembling with rage and it was taking everything she had to not pounce on him, which would just very possibly, lead to her demise.

He laughed harshly. "I am going to enjoy myself with you, Isabella."

"You are insane, Tirawley! Do you know _where_ you are? You will never get me out of here!"

He made to grab her but froze, so did she, when the slam and crash of another door hit the wall.

Growls came from Tirawley and his minion and the swish of broadswords being raised for combat. But at the sound of his voice, the sinking sensation in her stomach vanished.

"Lay your hands on her and it's the last thing you will ever do," her rescuer said without emotion, his words dripping ice.

Bella's mouth dropped open in relieved surprise, her eyes glued on him.

His tall, powerfully-built form came forth from the shadows, moving forward with easy, and deadly, grace.

Her feelings of brief reprieve turned into horror however, when from the corner of her eye, she saw three more burly men emerge from behind the Irish giant. She whipped her gaze back to Edward, who seemed to have come to her rescue alone.

"Take one more step, Kent, and you'll need a new queen," Tirawley replied with a slippery grin. "_Or_ _king_."

Before she could blink, he twisted his body and was behind her in an instant, but he didn't touch any part of her.

Edward's right hand gripping the broadsword twitched, and she thought she heard a stifled growl from him. Her eyes stayed on him, and she shook her head vehemently, wordlessly begging him to not try anything rash because no matter how strong or powerful he was, five to one was suicide.

He visibly made an effort to still the urge to attack and to defend, she could see his muscles straining with restraint. His eyes were no longer aloof but flaring, and he was staring at the Irish with remarkable revulsion.

"You've been betrayed, MacDermott. It's over." He flicked a disdainful glance towards his men, who were now jittery. "Just you, aye? I doubt your men will die for you."

Casually, Edward transferred his broadsword to his left hand, and flexed his right hand. She was mesmerized by the deceptive fluidity of his movement.

"Your entire entourage is now being held by the castle guards," he said. By now, Bella's hammering heart seemed to slow and she has lost her focus. She watched, mesmerized, his clenching and unclenching hand.

"I have never killed a prince before," Edward murmured and her attention snapped back to him.

Tirawley laughed and snarled at the same time as he attempted - without still laying a hand on her for fear of inciting manic violence from Edward - to use her as his shield.

Her eyes widened a bit as she felt him poke the middle of her back, an indistinct sharp thing that she knew was a blade. Immediately, she purged the shock and instinctive grimace from her face, but it was too late.

Edward had seen her flinch and went berserk.

A good eight feet, maybe more, of distance separated them, but he was nearer to Tirawley than to his brutes.

As if she was in the familiar bubble of her Edward-fantasies, she stared at him, for Edward in the throes of a demented, brutal abandon was a thing of beauty.

His roar made Tirawley jump and Bella didn't wait for him to regain his scattered wits back. She flung herself flat on the floor and stayed there, keeping the hell out of their way.

She wanted to look up but she couldn't. But she _had_ to, he might need her help! She heard Gaelic screeches above her and she paled, bile rising from her stomach.

Edward seemed to be directly standing over her while she remained on the floor, rolled onto all fours. The deadly clashes of broadswords clanging rang in the air.

She peeked up just in time, breathing in gasps, to see Edward knock the giant aside and quick as wind, landed a punch on Tirawley's jaw, all the while his sword arm kept hacking at the still standing behemoth.

Bella knew he wasn't going to hold them off for much longer and she would have to do it, to leap up and lunge at whoever she could latch her hands onto first. She would surely die by impaling, but so be it.

She shifted her body into a crouch and just as she was about to spring up, she heard hisses and the thump of arrows hitting thick targets, followed by gasps and grunts.

Bella barely had time to digest the whoosh of another arrow when a large hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her up. She was abruptly turned around, her back to him, and his other hand anxiously traced every inch of her back and spine for holes.

She bit back a sob. "I- I'm not h-hurt," she stuttered. Her whole body was starting to shake.

Edward turned her to face him. His eyes were wild and his hands cupped her face and then he was kissing her, hard. She didn't care that he was crushing her to him, for she was clawing his chest and his face, trying to get closer. She let him consume her.

Somewhere in the blurred confusion of her mind she heard mutterings and the slam of doors closing.

"Edward," a gruff voice said suddenly.

She bit off a cry when Edward removed his hands from her, leaving her cold and bereft. She was propelled backward and his body blocked hers from whoever had spoken.

"Is the queen hurt?" Carlisle calmly inquired.

Bella glanced at the men who tried to abduct her, now dead, bodies twisted. She moved closer to Edward, seeking his solid comfort. She wrapped her arms around his waist, wound them tight and breathed in his scent. She laid her cheek against his back.

"She's unharmed," Edward said finally and she hugged him tighter, soothed by the steady rise and fall of his chest. She was grateful that he seemed to have calmed down himself.

She swallowed convulsively and forced herself to focus. She took a deep breath and peeked from behind Edward's back. She saw that her bedchamber was empty but for the Cullens and a few of the Kent men. All of them, with the exception of Carlisle, were looking away from her.

"Is Tirawley …?" she whispered.

"The worm-puking bastard's alive, my lady." It was Emmett who answered her after a tentative pause. He was crouching down beside the supine body of the prince.

Carlisle cleared his throat meaningfully at his youngest son.

"Begging your pardon, your highness," Emmett hastily added.

* * *

[Edward]

"Take her to her mother's quarters," he told Jasper. He gently tried to unloop Bella's arms from around his waist but she pressed closer and wouldn't let him go. In a quiet voice, he said to her, "let us take care of this first, Bella, you'll have to deal with this mess soon enough, too."

He felt her let out a deep sigh and slowly, reluctantly, she slid her arms from around him.

Jasper bowed slightly to the queen and held out his arm for her to take. He felt her eyes on him and turned to her, giving her a reassuring smile.

She was still shivering and he grabbed her fallen overcoat and draped it around her shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, not caring that they have an audience.

"I'll go to you soon," he whispered in her ear. She nodded tiredly and let his brother lead her from the room.

As soon as she was out of hearing, he barked at Emmett, "haul that _mhic__ na __galla_ in the dungeon and wait for me there. He better be awake by then."

Edward glanced at his father who looked at him with obvious curiosity. He let out a resigned sigh. He would be forced to explain soon.

* * *

He did leave the castle that morning but he had been disturbed by Alice's warning. He couldn't say exactly what made him turn back but he did, and he had left Sir Garrett in-charge of the raid.

He rode as fast as he could back to the castle and returning, he was greeted with chaos. The queen's guards have captured MacDermott's men and had them lined up and contained in the inner courtyard by the time he had crossed the grounds and entered the castle.

Edward didn't ask questions, he didn't need to, but ran up to the staircase leading to Bella's quarters. Castle guards were already at the door with both Kent's and Exeter's men but it was barred from the inside.

He barely registered his father's grim report that the queen was trapped inside her quarters. The duke relayed to him the events that led to the capture of MacDermott's men but of the goat-swiving whoreson himself, there were no confirmed missives of where he was.

Edward knew where the Irish was and he was going to die for it, he swore to himself. He had no time to issue commands he knew his brothers and his men would follow him.

Three of the four hidden passageways leading up directly to the queen's chambers were barricaded. He savagely kicked the only unbolted door, breaking it, and stormed up the dark, twisting alleys alone, not waiting for his men to catch up with him.

He didn't give much thought of what he would do when he found them. His enraged thoughts were all on how he was going to rip MacDermott apart, limb by limb.

When he saw her face flinched, and he thought the bastard had stabbed her, it was as if he lost all his reasons for living. His mind had become a strange, thoughtless thing, and he was without words. The world was only that moment, and it was centered on her survival.

And now he wondered what he would have done if he had been too late, if the whoreson had taken her and killed her whilst still in flight.

Edward's mouth clamped into a grim line as he quickly descended the steps to the dungeon, his father following behind him.

He swallowed and he tasted the remnants of his fear. The panic was still there, his chest still heavy with dread. He stopped abruptly and turned to his father, "It's time to get de Burgh."

MacDermott's treachery was too much of a close call and he nearly lost Bella. He couldn't fail her again and that meant they could not let their guard down, for there was still Victoria Argyll and that arse-heid, de Burgh.

The duke didn't argue, only nodded. "I'll bring him to you," he said. His father turned abruptly and strode toward a gated door at the end of a dark hall. Edward followed, his long legs keeping pace with ease.

He should be bone-tired he had spent hours drilling one of the Irish nobles that had accompanied the MacDermotts, the same man who had betrayed the prince for a bag of gold. What he had revealed to them was not surprising.

The prince had planned it all along, to abduct the queen and to force her to marry him. And he would have succeeded if not for Kent's spies and ultimately, by the treachery of his own vassal.

Edward cursed aloud. There was no help for it, it has begun.

England was at war again.

* * *

[Bella]

She was glad the queen mother was not at the castle. Her mother had left England three days ago. No one knew of her true destination, which was Spain. The official announcement was that her mother had gone to visit her half-German sister in her hometown of Cologne.

Restlessly, Bella paced around her mother's bedchamber. This was how she passed the whole night, pacing, worried, longing for Edward.

She was alone, she preferred it this way. Angela was too agitated to be around with and Bella was relieved that Raoul was still at the castle. He had postponed his own travel back to Aragon. Her sister would be occupied at least, and she didn't have to worry about her and her safety.

She sat on a chair facing the window. She could feel the energy draining from her limbs, slipping through her fingers and her toes. She let out a deep sigh, knowing this was better. She would rather feel limp and drained than to shed tears she wouldn't know how to stop.

She forced herself to sit still and realized that no, she didn't want to be alone after all. She wanted _him_.

She gazed sightlessly at the window and noticed that the sun was rising, testing the new dawn. It was also raining. When had it begun to rain?

_Mary __Mother_, she was tired, and weary. And she sorely needed his comfort, his strength and warmth. She just plain needed him.

* * *

Emmett cleared his throat. "Should I, err, get my brother, my lady?"

Bella stood in the middle of Edward's room, staring at the door. Her body was still tense and tight and she tried to breathe normally.

Emmett's query roused her from her stupor, she had forgotten that he was there. She turned to him and an unbidden smile lighted her face. Poor Emmett, she thought, he seemed to be always uncomfortable in her presence but she didn't know how to put him at ease.

He had to know where she would be, though, and that was the reason she asked him to accompany her to Edward's room. She was too tired to hide or pretend that she was where she was supposed to be.

"Where is he anyway?" she muttered, moving to the bed and sitting down. She happened to look up at Emmett again and caught his painfully red face. He stared at her for a moment and then looked away, covering his discomfort with a cough.

"With the prisoners, my lady," he said. "It could take a while."

"Did they get Victoria?"

"No," he replied in a tight voice. "We have de Burgh, though, and he is talking."

"Where is de Burgh now?"

Emmett hesitated for a moment and then said, "I would say he is in hell."

* * *

It had to be just about midnight. She moved quietly around the dark room. All was silent. She knew Emmett was just outside the door, guarding, and to keep servants out.

She was standing near the window, gazing unseeingly out at the moonlit vista for some time when she heard the door open and close. A smile touched her lips and she was finally able to breathe freely.

His arms encircled her and he murmured, low and close to her ear, "God, if anything had happened to you …"

She wanted to tell him she loved him. Her lips parted, but her voice escaped her.

He tightened his arms around her and he pulled her closer toward him. He leaned down and he kissed the soft spot just below her ear.

"Edward," she said, breathless. He brought his hand to the swell of her breast, his lips on her neck. He slipped his hand inside the folds of her dress and skimmed his palm over her soft skin, rubbing.

And then she was weightless. He swept her into his arms and his lips found hers again. She knew what would happen this time and she couldn't wait to feel his hands on her again, on her belly, between her legs. She expected it, but she would never be prepared for the rush of desire that she felt when he kissed her, his hands on her bare skin.

As he laid her down on the bed, she felt his hands everywhere, touching her, caressing her, pushing her dress down. He did things to her, and made her experience things she never thought she was capable of feeling. He made her gasp and moan and she couldn't help but arch up and to give him everything he wanted from her.

* * *

He touched her tender skin, and she tried not to wince.

"I'm sorry," he said, kissing the bruised spot. He lifted her hand and touched his tongue to the inside of her wrist. "Your skin's too delicate."

"Sorry," she murmured and he chuckled.

He caressed the inside of her elbow and her breathing quickened. He moved and his hand was on her hip, stroking, his other hand curving around her breast. She felt her body flush, his own heat making her weak and yet, very much alive.

"I'll try to be gentler this time." His words were hot against her ear.

"Not too gentle," she breathed.

* * *

Bella lay on top of him, enjoying the feel of his warm skin, hard muscles to her soft curves. Her slick body was still shaking, her breathing shallow. He held her close.

"Am I crushing you?" she asked, not moving. She felt boneless.

"My armor weighs more than you," he murmured. His finger floated across her cheek to her temple and then back down, and around the shell of her ear.

She raised herself up, suddenly needing him again, a little embarrassed by her craving. He watched her as she straddled his waist. He leaned up and kissed her. She wound her arms around his neck and their mouths grew more urgent. The kiss went on and on. She didn't want to break the moment.

His touch was so achingly tender, but she knew he could also be fatal.

"Don't be like that again," she whispered, shivering, reliving the violence she had witnessed the night before.

"Like what?" He asked with a half smile.

"Fight like a raving maniac."

"That's how I fight." His lips brushed hers in a feather-light caress.

"It's very wild." She lifted her head and cupped his face. "You scare me when you are like that, as if you don't care if you live or die."

His sweet kiss turned fierce, and his tongue began to probe. She couldn't help but open up to him, yielding. He shifted and then she was on her back, completely beneath him now.

She uttered a soft squeal when she felt his lips travel down from her neck, collarbone, ribs, and he moved even lower. Her eyes grew dazed at his sensual onslaught.

"I have Norse blood," he said, his mouth as he spoke tickled the soft skin of her belly. He squeezed her thigh and a large hand cupped her center. She gasped, hidden muscles tightening as he moved his fingers, stroking her in the most intimate way.

He was atop her again, his full weight on her. She panted, squirming beneath him. He nudged her thighs apart, settled in between and then looked at her, his dark green eyes as wicked as his smile.

"Be warned, _a__ chuisle_," he murmured. She felt him filling her, stretching her core. "We make love the same way we fight."

* * *

[Edward]

**One week later**

The traitor was still denying his association with the witch.

"Let me speak with the queen," de Burgh ground out. He could barely open his mouth, his split lips were swollen.

He let out an impatient sigh and glanced around at the dim prison cell. What on earth could this bastard protecting? His gold? His title, his holdings? All these were lost to him.

"Who are you working with? Stanhope? The Yorkshires?"

"I am not an assassin!"

"My sources tell me Victoria is here, in the castle." He held up his hand when de Burgh showed indication of interrupting. "You tell me what you know and we'll make sure your death will be honorable."

"What, not a hanging?" He laughed bitterly, spitting blood.

"A beheading it will be and a fitting end to a traitor, don't you think?"

Edward tapped his foot. He was done here, whether de Burgh would speak or not, reveal crucial information or not. He was finished.

He felt his teeth grinding. He knew why de Burgh kept denying his role in the witch's schemes, because he was afraid of her.

He had poked, he prodded. He even tortured a little. None of these things worked on the doomed earl and it told him the measure of the witch's hold on this man.

It was making him rigid with his own fear. He would never admit his foreboding to anyone. Hell, he could barely admit it to himself. But he knew Victoria Argyll, and he could almost feel a wretched, grudging reverence in her brand of evil.

* * *

[Alice]

The witch was playing the deadliest of games.

Four court tasters have died in the last seven days, two of them specifically assigned to the queen and her immediate family. Poison was too easy, too convenient, and it was expected that Victoria would try to kill the queen with a lethal drink, or venom-filled food.

Alice sniffed at the barely eaten dish of meat that was suspected of being poisoned. The smell was different in this one it was more potent and noxious.

She gulped, throat suddenly dry. She reached for a cup and found her wrist gripped and the cup fell on the ground, spilling the amber liquid. She looked up at her brother.

"She would want to kill you, too," he warned.

"You're more in danger than I am," she muttered.

He shook his head and signaled for a servant to bring her a new cup. "She won't try to kill me. _Not_ _yet_ anyway."

Edward led her to the courtyard, away from the crowd of nervous nobles and fearful servants. This was the mood inside the castle these days. Every one of them all was jittery, jumpy and that was just because of Victoria.

The war with the MacDermotts' side of Ireland was another thing, another source of worry. But somehow, the more immediate and sinister threat was not the war but the evil incarnate that was the witch herself.

War was anticipated and it was a battle that was visible, perceptible, and fleshly. The outcome was almost predictable if one was prepared for the long battle ahead.

No one could predict the witch, however, not anymore. Alice couldn't see her and she wasn't sure why.

"Have you had any visions lately?"

Edward would ask her almost every day, and every day she would shake her head with regret, with disappointment.

"Only her oppressive presence," she would say quietly, a routine response.

This day was no different and her heart sank anew. She looked around the deserted courtyard. "I'm sorry that I could not give you more," she told him.

He crossed his arms, his tone was carefully even. "Keep trying. You have helped me before when I was her prisoner, I know it. I heard you."

Edward reached out and took hold of both of her hands, squeezing encouragingly. "This is not a war that I could defeat using brute force." She looked up at him and his smile was pained. "I will not lose her this way, Alice. I _cannot_ be without her," he said quietly.

Her fingernails bit into his palms. "I'll try harder, brother," she promised him.

* * *

"She's your mother, too. Perhaps you have the sight and do not know it yet?" Alice asked him, eyes narrowing. Half of Edward's mouth quirked up in a dry, what-are-you-getting-at sort of smile.

Alice suddenly had a vision of things, of Edward fighting an indistinct enemy and then it disappeared as suddenly as it had come. That gave her pause. It was all tied to him, everything.

She had been mulling about this possibility for some time. Magic was in the blood and like eye color, the shape of the eyes and the nose, the ability to see and the knowing could be passed on from mothers to her children, the same way that facial features or a certain mannerism could be inherited.

Edward frowned. "No," he said quite firmly. "Perhaps I was dreaming at the time, and at other times. But I do not see other than what is before me. I have none of this 'sight' you speak of."

Alice wasn't certain her brother was correct in his assumption that he was completely closed off, or separated from what connected people such as her mother, or her, to the world of the Spirit and the unknown. She had felt it from him before, this strange sense of awareness, the mystical tingling when she was trying to see her brother's future.

"You've thwarted her twice," she murmured. "You have defeated Victoria on two occasions."

He gave her an odd look, and raised his brows in question.

"The first time was the arrow," she said slowly. She sat down on the bench. She was silent for a moment. She heard him sigh, impatient, and lifted her eyes to him.

"Bella suffered the arrow not me, you knew that," he said.

"But it was you who healed her. Don't you see?" She struggled to make sense of her thoughts and feelings. "No one was supposed to take the arrow from her body. No one can. She would have died instantly if anyone else had done what you did."

Edward's mouth opened but no words came out. He looked at her as if she had grown a second head and it was now trying to argue with him. She took a deep breath and tried to explain.

"Look, the arrow … it was Victoria's and it was enchanted. It should have killed Bella because it was what it was made for. The arrow was cursed. But, I think … I think it didn't work because you were there and you took it out." She gave him a direct look, unflinching. "You did it, Edward, you saved her because of who your mother was."

"And then you survived her prison," she continued in a soft voice, not waiting for his arguments. "She is a _powerful_ witch, Edward. How could you have resisted her?"

"Hell if I know," he muttered to himself.

Alice frowned thoughtfully at the horizon and she wondered, not for the first time, how different her life would have been had her mother lived through childbirth. She would have taught her everything she knew about good magic, and in turn, had they still known each other, she would share that knowledge to her brother.

She looked around their corner of the courtyard, just in case there was someone else about. "Edward," she said, looking up with narrowed eyes. "You can defeat her a third time."

He shook his head, smiling faintly.

"You must," she whispered.

He looked down at her and his eyes were kind. "Whatever happens, _mo __piuthar_, know that I am glad of you, and I will not hold it against you if anything will go amiss."

She fell silent, feeling tired, and confused. She didn't tell him, but the very notion of Victoria getting her hands on him one last time chilled her to the bone.

* * *

[Edward]

**Two weeks later**

The Great Hall was vibrating with tension as the queen and her courts received two Irish monarchs, both sworn enemies of the MacDermotts.

"We are no threat to you and your own, Queen Isabella, your foe is our enemy," Niall MacNeill of the Clann Cholmáin intoned, his manner stiff and formal. His words did not ease the tension, possibly because every one in the hall knew he brought with him hundreds of warriors, which he had wisely left, camped, at the last border town.

Bella stood up and nodded graciously at the Irish. She turned to the woman standing beside MacNeill. "Do you come as friend and supporter, too, Brigid?"

Brigid MacLochlainn of Tír Eoghain, who became queen in her own right at the age of 15, stepped forward and took Bella's hand. "Oh, Bella! Leave him to me. I should have sliced his hairy bollocks when I had the chance!"

Emmett made a gurgling noise deep in his throat as if he was choking and Jasper quickly slapped his closed fist against his broad back, pumping madly.

Nervous laughter and furtive snickers greeted Brigid MacLochlainn's tactless words. It was no secret that MacDermott was once betrothed to the Tir Eoghain.

Edward's mouth twitched a little. It was also no great secret that Brigid nearly killed the prince when she caught him engaged in an indecent manner with not one, but three of her servants all at once.

The tension was at last broken when Bella gave her friend a hug.

* * *

MacDermott was transferred to the tower prison.

For five days, the queen and the Irish monarchs were in deep negotiations of what to do with the MacDermotts. His rivals were each petitioning Bella to hand over the prince to them and in return, they would wage war against their mutual enemies.

Allegiances were renewed and new treaties were being prepared. Still, for formalities' sakes, England has declared war against the MacDermotts of Magh Luirg. The prince, after all, was the queen's most prized prisoner.

Bella really had no choice but to strike up new charters with MacNeill and Queen Brigid. Already, MacDermott's father and brothers were creating havoc in the border towns.

* * *

With long, easy strides, Edward crossed the hall quickly then slipped in a side door leading directly to the visitors' quarters. He stepped forward to his door and placed his hand on the knob, smiling in anticipation.

He knew she would be waiting for him, as she had been doing every night for the past month.

Edward smiled to himself as he turned the knob and entered his room. The heat and sensation roiling inside him was now familiar and yet he would never get used to it.

After that first night, he didn't resist anymore and to be honest, he didn't think he really thought of resisting her. He could have ended it then before anything could have a chance to begin. But he had no intention of ending this. He loved her and she was his life from the moment that he laid eyes on her.

And from that moment on, he had simply been gone it was as if he had completely lost himself to her.

"Edward?" she called softly from the bed. He loved the sound of her sleepy voice, it was throaty and sensual.

He hastily removed his clothes and hers, and then was on her. He snaked his arm around her back and in an instant she was pressed against his full length. His tongue parted her lips and swooped inside, exploring her warmth. He felt her hands at the back of his neck, her heart racing as his body began to tighten.

She was quickening beneath him, feeding his own mad desire. He wasn't gentle this time. He had discovered sometime ago that his Bella had a deeper, rougher need than the joining of their bodies, of their souls.

Edward groaned as her fingers bit into his back, nails raking his skin. It didn't take long it wasn't his intention to seduce her slowly. Her head lolled back and she screamed his name. Her convulsing body drove him into a frenzy and he couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop claiming her again and again.

Then he froze, his heart skipped a beat, his breath ending in a surprised gasp.

Startled, she looked up, her face was flushed, her eyes bright and dazed with passion.

"What did you say?" He whispered the words against her lips.

He felt her quivering around him, he was still inside her. Gritting his teeth, he began to move again, torturously slow.

"_Say __it_," he growled.

She raised her hand to his lips and he kissed her palm.

"I love you."

* * *

[Bella]

The first thought she had when she woke up was that he didn't say it back.

She cupped her face and felt it overly warm. She didn't regret her words, only the timing. How many times – since she was a little girl really – did she imagine this scenario, when she finally told him how she felt about him, that he was her world and that she would give up _absolutely_ _everything_ for him, if it meant she could have him?

_You__'__re __an __idiot, __Bella!_ She castigated herself. _Mother__ Mary_, did she really declare herself to him at that dubious moment, unplanned, and she caught like a startled doe? _Arrggh!_

She was at war with the Ireland that was controlled by Tirawley's family, her mother was in Spain trying to woo the king to agree to a new betrothal agreement and here she was, in bed and alone, kicking herself for telling the man she adored that she loved him.

Bella pulled a face. She needed to do something today to distract herself. She considered tending to her secret garden but she knew she was too restless for the usually calming chore. What she really wanted to do was to escape somewhere for just the day, away from the castle.

* * *

He knew what she would be doing, where she would be, and who would be accompanying her. Of course, he would know all these things. He knew everything about her.

Bella's mouth suddenly tasted quite sour, pondering her choices. For her riding excursion, it seemed that the Duke of Kent himself and his son, Emmett, would be escorting her. It was by his orders, she knew it.

She liked Carlisle and Emmett well enough, and perhaps, she loved them too. They were Edward's family and so hers by extension. But they were the last two persons she wanted with her, not when she was trying to forget that Edward hadn't said that he loved her back.

She blushed when she thought of what Carlisle must think of her and of his son together. Did he think her a person of loose morals? Edward was no longer married but he was still not her husband. Only Emmett knew that she had been spending all her nights with Edward, but she would bet her spare crown that the duke knew what had been happening behind closed doors.

She could comfortably justify her actions by falling into the norm that kings and queens generally, and traditionally, always maintain lovers other than their spouses. That would not be the case for her and Edward because he would be the _only_ man for her, but the duke didn't know that.

Bella smiled and nodded at the Cullens, although inwardly she felt unsettled and stressed. There were about six knights following behind them but for now, she could pretend that only father and son were her companions.

She wondered how angry Edward would be and how much injury Emmett would sustain if she, by some miracle, managed to elude her escorts and guards.

She loved Edward desperately but she was furious with him at this moment. She knew it was a short-lived anger but she would like to indulge herself in her temper.

He wanted her to say it, those three words, but how dare he not say it back? How could she say it not when he asked her, nay demanded her to utter the words? She couldn't resist him, not when the mere sight of him made her weak with longing.

* * *

[Alice]

She heard footsteps and turned to the sound, tapping rhythmically in her direction.

When she looked up, she saw a petite woman in the doorway. Her coloring was fairer than hers, and she had the reddish-bronze hair and the emerald eyes of her brother.

Alice blanched and felt pain and dread in her chest. She clutched at her bosom, her heart fluttering wildly, and she fell on her knees.

"W-why?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She thought she heard the apparition sigh, and it was a sad sound that nearly broke her heart.

_It was meant to be_, said her mother, her dim voice floating in the air around her, enclosing her in shadows.

* * *

[Bella]

They rode on, silence cloaking the forest. It was sometime after the noon time but the portion of the woods that they find themselves in were gray and disturbingly lightless.

Bella felt her brow creasing, perplexed. She was sure that when they started the day out, it was sunny and warm and the air was fragrant of pine and sandalwood.

She was also certain it was midday and not dusk, but her surrounding was foggy and the whiff of a breeze she caught was thick and oppressive. She shivered as a chilly wind whipped her unbound hair off her shoulders. She paused for a moment, halting her eerily still horse, and she gave the horizon a sulky gaze.

Did they get lost? They were following the river, weren't they? She was fairly certain she heard Carlisle tell her earlier that they were circling the lake, not wanting to venture too far from the castle.

Bella glanced around the densely forested area and then turned to Carlisle to query him about their location.

Her eyes widened and her body tensed, for she found herself alone.

"Carlisle? Emmett?" she called out.

She cringed when only the echo of her hollow voice returned to her.

"Carlisle!" she cried louder. The forest bounced off her shriek, making her skin prickle in dawning panic.

She nudged her horse forward but it stayed frozen. "Come on, beast. Move," she said, kneeing a command. It stood, unmoving, not a neighing sound, it was almost like a statue. She laid a hand on its thick neck and when she felt its cold, quaking flesh she cried out and hastily jumped down, backing away from the petrified animal.

"Emmett!" She was screaming in earnest this time.

Bella picked her way through the foggy forest, tripping over unseen tree roots, falling down once or twice and scraping her knees and hands. The sun had completely receded, blocked by the thick canopy of leaves above her.

_Mary __Mother ... Sweet __Holy Mother ... __Mary __Mother __of __God, _she chanted, her heart pounding louder with each stumbling step she took.

She burst from the shadowy wood and into a clearing, and the suddenness of its appearance took her breath away. In the next moment, she realized with terror and a curious sensation of resignation that she was not alone.

"You know why I am here, Isabella," she said softly, making the hair at the back of her nape stand on its end.

She had stopped breathing when she saw Victoria, emerging like black menace, perfectly at home in the darkness of the forest from whence she came.

So this was death, Bella thought, shuddering, as she stared at her. She couldn't even move, she wanted to hug herself, assure herself that she was still alive.

How foolish of her to ever think that she could escape this, escape her. She hoped the witch would stop with her death and she would leave Edward alone, but she knew that would never happen.

A strange sensation began to coil around her feet, unseen hands brushing against her skin. She was frozen, she couldn't move, as cold, inanimate hands touched her clammy skin, creating ripples of goose bumps.

Her eyes locked with Victoria's black orbs, oddly-colored like the bloodstone crystals, aptly named for capturing the blood of the Christ, Son of the Holy Mother.

They stared at each other, bonded, as she drained her life away. A staccato scream unleashed itself across her lips but she only heard it inside her head. She would not look away from her, the agent of her death, as unseen claws clasped around her neck and slowly squeezed.

Just as she felt, in some mystical way that only the dying would see, precious air leave her lungs, the unseen hands crushing her throat halted their torture and she was suddenly freed. She gasped aloud, gulping thin air to her starving lungs. She fell on the forest floor, coughing and dry-heaving, grabbing at her parched throat.

She heard the witch snarl and terrified, Bella's body shook. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body in flimsy protection. Victoria was hurling strange words in the air and she closed her eyes tight, praying for oblivion.

"Stay on the ground, Bella!"

A scream made her look up and she gasped in horror as she saw Alice's chest bloom with blood, her arms and legs stretched and flung out. She watched, stupefied, as her body seemed to hover above the ground, her limbs unnaturally spread.

The hair on Bella's frigid skin bristled and she couldn't stop shaking when she realized that it wasn't Alice who was screaming, it was the frightening spectral that was the wind that was making that awful, unearthly noise.

"No!" Bella whimpered and defying Alice's orders, tried to stand up.

As if sensing her intention, Alice struggled to turn her head to her. She barely moved her eyes and when she did, she pinned her with a blazing, pained look. She must have done something to her because she felt tied to the earth, as frozen as she was earlier when Victoria was choking her.

_Stay__ down!_ Her eyes commanded her and for a wild moment, she actually heard her voice inside her head.

With an inhuman effort, Alice bent her upper body, her arms straining with effort to move. But the screeching, swirling wind around her seemed to hamper her, forcing her arms back as she tried to bend them, to push the encumbering force away from her.

Bella clawed desperately at the earth, still tackling the unseen energy holding her down. _Must__ get __up! __Help __Alice!_

The witch suddenly yelled and Bella froze, blood curdling at the sound of other strange sounds, chanting, coming from her.

Victoria's body jerked and she swung her right hand up, the movement wrenching and tugging at the invisible force holding Alice immobile.

Bella whipped her head in the direction of what had transfixed Victoria, who now stood unmoving and enraptured, looking beyond her prey.

Her mouth went dry and she wasn't sure whether her heart had started to beat double time or it had stopped completely.

"Edward ..." The witch's eyes devoured him. "You came for me," she said, her voice grew impassioned.

Victoria's outstretched arms pulled back and in an instant, the howling winds dispersed, leaving an ominous silence.

Alice uttered a shuddering moan and would have fallen to the ground if not for Edward who moved forward to catch her wounded, limp body. He swung her up in his arms, his eyes never moving from Victoria's face, and slowly backed away from her, towards Bella.

"Stop, Edward," Victoria said tightly. She made a threatening gesture towards her and he held himself perfectly still. She smiled at him and he went pale, deathly pale.

"I will kill you, Victoria," he said with ruthless fervor. "It ends now."

Victoria's head tilted slightly to the side. "Oh?" she taunted in a low, evil voice. Without taking her eyes off him, she flicked her hand in Bella's direction and the shock of contact was immediate.

She cried out as her entire body was jolted and her left arm became rigid, painful in its grotesque inflexibility. She felt a sharp sting and she watched, horrified, as blood poured from her wrist.

Bella sensed Edward's quick movement as he laid Alice's unconscious form on the ground. She saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the crossed hilt of his broadsword and drew himself up straight. The darkness seemed to engulf him as with a roar, he launched himself at Victoria.

There was a terrible scream and she realized it was coming from her.

She had no time to see more when two things happened. A pale form, like a ghost, rose from the ground behind Edward and there was a whoosh of a propelling force, nearly blinding her by the light that sparked from its appearance. The piercing light hoisted Edward forward, almost as if he was flung in the air with an unnatural speed that he was a blur.

Victoria didn't shriek or stumble or moved to defend herself, she only stood still, a macabre smile on her white face. She lifted her arms to him as if she was welcoming Edward's descent upon her.

Edward's growling grew to a crescendo, drowning out the chanting from the witch. With primitive strength, he brought down his blade one-handed on the witch's head and with that one, single, powerful sword strike, he decapitated her.

The blinding light and swirling wind abruptly vanished as if sucked through an abyss. Trembling with shock, Bella slowly rose to her feet, at the same time that Edward turned to her. He was breathing heavily and his face and tunic were smeared with blood and gore.

She swayed as she stood and the sound of her heart beating was abnormally loud in her ears. She blinked and when next she opened her eyes, she hadn't expected him to be so close that she could see the flecks of blue in his green eyes.

"Oh God, Bella!" he exclaimed, and she frowned at his frightened tone.

She tried to smile at him, to remind him that he was alive and the witch was destroyed.

But she was numbed and her body felt heavy. It was becoming a great effort to breathe.

As her breath gasped across her lips, she couldn't shake the feeling that her soul was slowly being ripped from her body.

"_Bella!_"

* * *

*****a/n**

Gaelic:

Mhic na galla – Son of a bitch

Mo piuthar – My sister


End file.
